


Jeeves and the Troublesome Podcast

by justpeace



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, David Attenborough's comforting voice, Extreme artistic liberties taken with original material and characters, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, GBBO admiration, Gays playing rugby, Gays recording podcasts, M/M, Podcast, Slow Burn, Therapy, discussions about whether or not Herman Melville was into dudes, fundraising gala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justpeace/pseuds/justpeace
Summary: Bertie Wooster is an aimless bachelor, living a post-graduate life in London. Like any white man in his 20s with an abundance of time, he decides to start a podcast. Surprisingly, he gets a decent following with his "vintage" personality and terrible advice. With a bigger following comes more deep questions that deserve more than a joke answer, and Bertie decides to find someone more qualified to help- a reluctant therapist named Reg Jeeves.





	1. Ask Wooster Episode:Newts You Can Use

**Author's Note:**

> I will go right out and say this work owes a lot to LadyKeane's work "Bertie's Blog" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10479690/chapters/23121285) because before I read it I genuinely believed that JW would not be possible in a modern setting (aside from like, time displacement). Reading that work convinced me that it could work in deft hands (such as LadyKeane's), and while my hands are not particularly deft, I really really wanted to try it out. I did not re-read "Bertie's Blog" after I realized I wanted to do a modern AU myself, but to my knowledge there is one stark similarity- my Jeeves is also half-Asian, albeit East Asian. I have no explanation for this coincidence except I am half-Asian, I love writing nuanced identities into historically white characters, and it seemed like an easy in.  
Any email addresses/twitter accounts/etc listed in the work are 100% made up
> 
> Also- not every chapter is going to be a podcast transcript. :)

Bertie: What ho what ho what ho! Welcome to “Ask Wooster”, an advice podcast for confused chaps, befuddled beazels, and everyone in between. I am your host, Bertie Wooster, your non-expert on all things. Here with me in the studio is my guest for the day, my old school chum Gussie. Say hello, Gussie!

Gussie: Hello Bertie! 

Bertie: Now, dear listeners, Gussie and I have known each other since we were in short pants and the chap has always been mad about lizards. Isn’t that right, Gussie?

Gussie: They’re newts, Bertie. You know that they’re newts. 

Bertie: Newts, lizards, they cut the same profile don’t they? 

Gussie: Not at all! Newts are semiaquatic which means that they switch between terrestrial and aquatic habitats which is fascinating when it comes to their physiology, and they come in very bright and exciting colors! Their mating habits alone are of much interest- 

Bertie: I say, Gussie, I’m not sure we have time to delve into that area of interest just yet! Needless to say, listeners, Gussie is quite generously endowed of brain and will be a font of advice both newt and non-newt related today, I’m sure. 

Gussie: I’ll certainly do my best. 

Bertie: Our first question comes from Sam in Dorset. What ho, Sam! Sam writes: “Hello Bertie, I have a conundrum- I am super in love with the guy who makes my coffee every morning. I think he likes me too, but it’s hard to tell. What do I do?” Do you want to take first crack at this, Gussie?

Gussie: Well Sam, you want to be like the smooth newt in this situation- 

Bertie: The smooth newt, Gussie? 

Gussie: Yes Bertie, give me a moment to explain. 

Bertie: Of course, carry on. 

Gussie: Well the smooth newt, or common newt, is a species found throughout Europe-

Bertie: It’s just that I’m not sure what newts have to do with courtship, Gussie. 

Gussie: It’ll become clear momentari-

Bertie: I mean to say, it’s very unlikely that Sam is a newt, on account of his having taken up pen and paper- 

Gussie: More likely laptop-

Bertie: Quite, more likely laptop, and you can’t very well operate a laptop in the water Gussie!

Gussie: Well newts ARE semiaquatic so if Sam were a newt he could go on land to-

Bertie: But I mean newts are quite small things from what I’ve seen so it would take him a phenomenal effort to press down on a key, and also I don’t think newts should be drinking coffee, Gussie. 

Gussie: You’ve got me there. But look, all I was saying with regard to the smooth newt was that they perform a mating dance- the male grows a crest so he starts to look very attractive, and he’ll wiggle his tail to create waves to impress the female. 

Bertie: I hope you’re not saying Sam should grow a crest to impress his barista, Gussie!

Gussie: Oh no, of course not, that’s quite impossible biologically. I just mean that maybe Sam should dress up a little, show off, you know? Maybe that will impress the newt- I mean man- in question.

Bertie: Well I have to say Gussie that makes much more sense than what you started off with. I agree, of course, but also- Sam, you need to keep in mind that baristas are paid to be nice to people, and so just know that when you do make your ask because it can make for an awkward situation when the person has just been nice to you all along because it’s their job.

Gussie: Did you learn that the hard way, Bertie? 

Bertie: Never mind how I learned it. I just want to prepare you for the worst, Sam, but of course we will hope for the best. Put on your best crest- that is to say, some nice clothes, smile especially nicely at your barista, and make sure to ask him out in a way that does not make him feel required to say yes in order to get your usual tip. You can leave your phone number, for example. I can’t promise things won’t be awkward if it doesn’t work out but hopefully you’ll next walk out of that cafe with your daily coffee and a date. 

Gussie: Agreed. Play your cards right, just like the smooth newt. 

Bertie: Do newts go on dates, Gussie? 

Gussie: No, it’s much more interesting! Once the male impresses the female he will present a sperm sac for the female to take up into the cloaca- 

Bertie: And now for a message from our sponsors! Do you spend too much money and time creating meals that aren’t even very good? Try Chartreuse Chef’s Hat, the new service designed to fix all of those problems! Now, dear listeners, I have been using Chartreuse Chef’s Hat for about a year now and I can say it is tip-top. I didn’t know how to cook at all before but everything is sent to me ready-made and whatnot and I just bung it all together in the pan and create a delicious meal. Last night, I made Korean barbeque tacos which were quite a hit with the Wooster stomach. Listeners, you get a special deal thrown in with your first two meals free if you sign up at chartchef.com/askwooster. Spice up your life today!

Bertie: Well now we’re back from our break and ready to conquer the next question. Would you like to read it, Gussie? 

Gussie: Certainly. This is from Sanjay, who lives in Massachusetts. 

Bertie: What ho, Sanjay!

Gussie: Yes. What ho. Anyway, Sanjay writes: “Dear Bertie, I have been trying to get a job for the last six months, and am close to running out of savings. I don’t want to have to move back in with my parents but I’m not sure what else I can do. I have applied to every coffee shop, bakery, and restaurant in the area. What am I missing? Is there anything else I can do to make some dough?” 

Bertie: Have any newt-related wisdom for this one, Gussie? 

Gussie: Not really, Bertie. Newts aren’t much for capitalism as they don’t really need to buy things.

Bertie: They don’t need take-out every Friday?

Gussie: No, they mostly eat worms, small fish, and sometimes other newts. 

Bertie: I think in this respect newts are perhaps not an example to be held up in this podcast. 

Gussie: No. And I’m a graduate student, so I can’t really be of much help.

Bertie: Quite right. Well, Sanjay, it sounds as though you are in a rough set of circumstances. I will say that I may not be the best equipped to answer this question on account of being a podcaster. I don’t know if you know much about podcasters, Sanjay, but in my experience we’re not well-versed in the “getting a real job” realm.

Gussie: So you can’t help him? 

Bertie: I didn’t say that! Sanjay old chap, here’s what you do- go online. There are transcription websites and task gophers and all manner of things that one can do if one is strapped for cash. Start looking in your neighborhood. Do you like dogs? You can probably walk some! I think there’s a website- or probably an app- for that too. Start thinking outside of the box. Then, if your money’s still drying up, there’s no shame in going home. You’ll still have some options for when you are home on how to find a job. Good luck, Sanjay!

Gussie: If you lived in Lincolnshire I’d hire you to newt-sit while I’m gone. Sorry I can’t be of more help!

Bertie: Well there you have it. That is the last of the questions for today. Gussie, thank you kindly for being on my show. 

Gussie: Not at all, Bertie. 

Bertie: Is there anything on the old social media you’d like to plug while you’re here?

Gussie: Oh, yes! You can find me on Twitter and Instagram at @askanewtscientist- I’m currently a PhD student at the University of Lincoln. 

Bertie: As discussed, Gussie is the go-to person for all things newt and newt-adjacent should you wish to look him up. And listeners, thank you kindly for giving this podcast a download. If you would like to submit questions, send them to: ask@wooster.net. Please remember to rate, review, and subscribe to this podcast on whatever devices you use. I have been picking out a review to read out each time to thank those who take the time. Here we have a missive from joanieW221: “Not sure whether this is performance theater, or just a guy having too much fun with his friends, but it’s very funny and his accent isn’t that bad.” Joanie, thank you for commenting! I’ll have you know this accent of mine is somewhat played up but very real. Oh, and you can find me on twitter and instagram @bertiewoo. Well, thanks all- until next time! Toodle-pip!


	2. Auntly Calls and New Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie has to find a guest for his podcast. Aunt Dahlia refuses. Someone at The Ganymede Group grudgingly agrees.

Gussie and I said our non-studio goodbyes, I put away my podcasting equipment in my bag, and I’d just stepped out of the studio building when I received a call. My phone very helpfully provided the caller ID of “Old Ancestor”.

“What ho, Aunt Dahlia!” 

“Bertie, my favorite nephew. Are you still pretending to be from the Victorian period?” 

“It’s from the roaring twenties, Aunt! And it’s one of the catchphrases of my podcast.” 

“Ah yes, that thing. You making any money yet?” 

“I’ve just about paid off the supplies with ad revenue.” The supplies had been surprisingly expensive, so I was quite proud of this.

“Well I guess that’s not so bad. Better than Tom with his photography studio, anyway. Birds and trees are all he photographs and you can easily see them from any window of the house! I mean it’s not like he’s out there catching volcanic eruptions or war zones-”

“Anyway, dear Aunt, why did you call?” I hated interrupting Aunt Dahlia but she does tend to be a little hard on Uncle Tom.

“Bertie it’s very rude of you to interrupt me. But as you ask, I was wondering if you were still coming around this weekend.” 

I winced. I had planned to, but my next podcast guest had just canceled and I needed to scrounge up a new one, ASAP. 

“You know I’d love to, Aunt Dahlia, unfortunately my plans have changed-” 

“Bertie,” Aunt Dahlia started with her ‘nephew-scorning’ voice, a voice portentous of many a holiday row, “Your cousins are visiting and I need you to distract them from breaking my best tea services and making off with the mediocre ones. You know how they get. They go off on escapades.” She said the word ‘escapades’ with specific venom.

My cousins Claude and Eustace were by no means my or Aunt Dahlia’s favorite members of the fam. I sucked in an apologetic breath. “It’s to do with the podcast, you see- I have to find a new guest for it. Unless...you’d like to come on?” I asked this question, knowing very well what my aunt’s answer would be. 

“I’d rather go boil my own feet, Bertie, you know that. I can’t stand the sound of my own voice on recordings. And to answer advice questions? How on earth are you qualified? You Millenials think you have all the answers, how you don’t bore yourselves to death is beyond my comprehension.”

“You’d be quite a catch for my podcast, Aunt. My listeners would be quite chuffed to hear from the proud owner of Milady’s Boudoir, one of the foremost feminist-related content creators!” I was throwing out antique words left and right, which I knew she detested. 

“And listen to my selfish attention-seeking nephew, who I remember being in diapers, trying and failing to sound like someone from his grandfather’s generation? I think not.” 

“Well then, aunt, unfortunately I really must stay in town this weekend. I can join you next weekend, of course?” 

“See if you get an invitation ever again, you blister.” She grumbled into the phone, and hung up. While my aunt can be prone to emotional outbursts, I know that her heart is in the right place (and she has never actually disowned me), so I maintained my pleasant mood as I headed back to my flat. 

My podcast, although not wildly popular, was attracting a fair amount of attention and interest after posting on a fairly consistent weekly schedule for just about a year. For a drunken decision (made sober by the purchase of a number of expensive gadgets) made post catastrophic breakup and dropping out of graduate school, it had turned out fine. I had always enjoyed giving my friends advice that they rarely ever listened to, and so when Bingo suggested I help him impress a new girlfriend of his by creating a podcast for him to be on, it only took until the second bottle of wine for me to say yes. The rest, as they say, is circumstance. Or history.

When I got back to my flat I unpacked my gear and opened my laptop to look through any new questions I had received. Recently a few of them had gotten more serious and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about that. I read through a few new ones- one was, quite amusingly, the plot of Maurice in question form. I saved that to a special folder I kept for my own amusement. A few more pertaining to being gay or queer (as an out gay man I was grateful to have a topic of actual expertise of a sort) that would be appropriate at some point, and one about rabbits that I filed away under “answer this only if you want more hate mail.” 

I looked at a cheerful post it note placed next to my desk, reminding me to look into therapists. While I had been quite contentedly going to the same therapist for years, my cousin Angela had suggested that I have someone of that profesh on my podcast. My current therapist was completely uninterested but had given me the name of the Ganymede Group, suggesting that the practice was large enough I’d likely be able to find someone who would be willing to go on a podcast. She had said the word with such disdain I wondered if the whole breed of therapists would be as turned off the idea as she was. I supposed there was only one way to find out. 

\---- 

I was in the middle of taking notes on my previous visit when there was a quiet knock at the door. 

“Come in.” 

Sarah poked her head in and gave a little wave, which she tends to do when she’s worried about my reaction to something. 

“Hi Reg, sorry to bother you but we got an...odd call.” 

I raised an eyebrow and waited for her to elaborate. 

“There’s this guy,” She checked the post-it note on her hand, “Bertie Wooster? He says he runs an advice podcast and he was wondering if any of the therapists at the practice would be willing to come on to talk about some heavier subjects he’s gotten questions on. I checked him out and his podcast seems to have a pretty solid following.” She said, looking at me expectantly. 

“Have you listened to it?” I asked. 

She nodded. “Only briefly. It’s a little…silly, though. Not like he doesn’t take the questions seriously, but I don’t think he takes himself very seriously. Or his guests.” 

I nodded. I realized that Sarah had come to me because she thought I would be the most likely to say yes to this request, being the youngest member of the practice. I wondered if I was the only one who knew what a podcast was. 

“I asked Ellen already but she’s out.” Sarah blurted. 

I tried not to feel hurt by that- Ellen was a great therapist, and probably more open-minded about this kind of thing than me, despite being nearly twenty years my senior.

“I thought I would ask you next. As your admin/marketing person/social media manager I feel like it’s important for me to point out that it might help drive more clients our way. And even if not, so many people know very little about how therapy works, it would be nice to decrease the stigma even a little bit.” She smiled. “There’s a lot of times I read an advice column and I think, you should really be talking to a therapist about this.” 

I sighed. Sarah did have a point, although the thought of going on a podcast did not appeal to me at all. “Does he know that we specialize-”

“In LGBTQ clients? Yes, I double checked. He said he’s glad and he thinks it will be a great fit for his audience. I get the sense he’s- well you never want to assume- but...pretty gay.” 

Ultimately, wanting to do good was my downfall. “I’ll do it, then. Thank you, Sarah.” 

She smiled brightly. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” 

I tried not to smile in return. “You’re not really supposed to have favorites.” 

“And yet!” She laughed. “I’ll message you the details once I call him back. I think you’ll need to go into a studio to record, or maybe he’ll come here- I’ll check.” She winked and closed the door behind her. Sarah was a particular help to the practice, and by now a friend. 

I stared at my office, feeling a little unmoored. Just today I’d told a client that one should try and embrace new experiences in life. And I did believe it. After all, I had come into therapy by way of a previous career in finance. I’d seen many of my peers struggle with their mental health, especially those of us who didn’t fit the straight, white, male, mould. I eventually came to the conclusion that by learning to heal others, being a confidant to their problems, I could also start along the path to healing myself. It helped that I had always used the psychology of the individual to help in my personal and work life- I had made a study of people, and when the pieces finally fell together it was a natural fit. After my second round of education had finished, I was glad to be able to join the Ganymede Group which specialised in counseling LGBTQ clients. 

I heard a ping from my computer and saw a message from Sarah.

Sarah: Got the info-i’ll send u the address. Does Saturday work? I told him 9am because I thought ud like to get it over with. He says he can meet u at the office- 

Reg: Saturday 9:00am is fine. Can you ask him to send the finished product for you to review before he posts it? I want you to have final say. 

Sarah: Yep, done. I’m sending him a TOTALLY legalese contract to sign too that says he’s not allowed to put u on the spot or trash talk u after.

Reg: Excellent, thank you. I’m headed out soon. See you Saturday.

Sarah: Seeya!

As I left the office that afternoon, I pulled up the most recent episode of “Ask Wooster” on my phone. A jaunty piano tune played with the theme song, as the host went into his introduction it took me a few moments to feel comfortable with the general tone. Was this supposed to be a comedy podcast, rather than an advice podcast? I didn’t think therapy was funny, nor would I assent to laugh about it in the name of entertainment. As I listened to Bertie’s dialogue with his friend, Gussie (were these made up names?), the advice they were giving seemed sensible. They may not have been going about it in a completely serious way, but it did seem like Bertie cared about answering the questions of his listeners. 

There was even a part where I chuckled a little, but I prefer not to say which one. 

When I arrived home, I thought to look up Bertie’s instagram handle out of curiosity. I knew the adage “a face for radio”, and was surprised to see that Bertie was a reasonably handsome, wiry fellow, although I noticed his taste in clothes was somewhat...fashion forward. He clearly favored bright colors and bold prints, and I decided Sarah’s assessment had likely been correct- I had yet to see a straight man wear such bold prints. I tapped on a photo of him with a piano- leaning amiably on it, wearing a mustard sweater and fitted blue jeans with his long legs stretched out, looking fondly in thought at his shoes...which were brick red oxfords. Aesthetically I could admit it was a lovely photo, but something in me shuddered at the colors.

I have been told by my sisters that my fashion sense is far too conservative- most of my wardrobe is black, navy, or grey. It had been stressful for me as a young man to project a “professional” image, and once I finally found an acceptable formula for clothing I was loath to leave it. Of course, I’d occasionally receive a colorful scarf or socks as gifts that I felt required to save and wear on special occasions. At any rate, perhaps I was in a particular position to judge Bertie’s wardrobe harshly, although I imagine most people would agree with me about the combination of a pink dog-print polo shirt and teal shorts featuring multi-colored sunglasses. 

When Saturday morning came, I arrived at my office roughly 15 minutes before the recording was supposed to start. I wanted to make sure everything was ready. I find cleaning a calming practice, and was just finished dusting the bookshelves when Sarah looked in and rolled her eyes.

“Pretty sure this guy won’t be offended by a coffee stain on your desk, Reg.”

I frowned at the desk as I wiped at the stubborn stain. 

“You really don’t have anything to worry about.” Sarah said with a smile. 

I opened my mouth to tell her I wasn’t worried, and then realized I was exhibiting all my “worried” behaviors. “I want to represent our practice accurately. I’m worried that my words will be taken out of context and somehow misrepresented to make me say exactly the opposite of what I want to say.” 

I sighed, and threw the cleaning wipe in the bin. 

Sarah walked over and patted my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Reg. Trust me. I think this is a great opportunity. And look, I’m sure you listened to at least one of Bertie’s episodes. They’re not bad. For whatever reason, he has an audience and I think they’d benefit to hear from you too. He doesn’t seem like a terrible guy.” She paused, squeezing my shoulder briefly. “Plus, the contract I made him sign is very scary and I fully intend to sue his trousers off should he break it.”

That did make me feel better.


	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie shows up hungover to his own podcast recording. Some things never change.

I hadn’t particularly set myself up for success, meeting with this therapist fellow. The Friday night before our meeting I got inadvisably sozzled thanks to my old school friend Tuppy. I realize this makes me sound like I have buckets of old school friends, and the truth is- I do. I’m loath to make enemies but somehow I seem to manage it more than I prefer, so my defense is to make as many friends as possible. Not that it was ever easy with Tuppy- he’s always been a bit of a clot, but he’d never really crossed me. I mean, we’d had our disagreements over an occasional poorly-placed bet, but he had never insulted my family, nor I his. So we were out at some club or another celebrating his newest job at some bank or another while he insisted on trying increasingly alcoholic beers and things got the better of me. 

I don’t remember much about getting home, but I remember waking up around 8:00am and feeling miserable. It took me 15 minutes to remember where I had to be, and another 5 of panicking and making sure I had my things before I shoved myself out of my flat and onto the cold, unforgiving London streets. 

You may disagree with me about the streets of London but that morning the wind alone bit through my jacket and threatened to dislodge my backpack full of valuable podcasting equipment, plus I nearly lost my breakfast (aspirin and day-old coffee) twice. All those amount to a 2 star review on Yelp from yours truly, if the London streets were on Yelp (they aren’t). 

By the time I’d dragged myself through Kensington into the building that housed the Ganymede Group, I was only a few minutes late but my body was actively rebelling every movement. Wooster was not in top podcasting shape. I felt like a cat that had been dragged through a sewer, and I likely looked worse.

Nevertheless, we Woosters are hardy of spirit if not entirely hardy of body after we’ve consumed too many drinks the night before, so I put on my brightest smile and greeted the receptionist, whose name I remembered was Sarah. 

She seemed nice, and looked a bit like a uni student with her dark hair in an asymmetrical haircut and wearing a colorful flannel shirt. After a moment or two I think she realized I wasn’t quite right and her expression soured.

“Reg’s office is just through here. Are you… will you be alright?” 

I laughed. It might have come out more like a wheeze. 

“Oh, yes, just a little hangover, nothing to be worried about.” 

Sarah looked even more disapproving than before as she knocked on and opened the door to Reg’s office. 

In retrospect, I was expecting a kind of person similar to my own current therapist, a man for whom Hawaiian shirts are a favorite for showing off his impressive thatch of chest hair. The man in front of me was not wearing a Hawaiian shirt, nor did he seem very hairy of chest. Hypothetically, I mean. I couldn’t see his chest. He was wearing a navy suit, and looked more like someone auditioning for the part of James Bond than any therapist I’d ever seen. His dark hair was parted to the side and it really added to, overall, what my Aunt Agatha would call “a classic look” while giving the goaty eye to yours truly. 

He seemed pleasant enough, if serious, while he shook my hand and directed me to the couch. 

At that point things get a little fuzzy. I remember sitting down with my face in between my knees as Reg, the person whose professional advice I had requested for my podcast without any payment, knelt down beside me and asked how I was doing. 

“I’m fine.” I wheezed. I took a moment to breathe and wish the gray-patterned Ikea carpet would swallow me up. “I may have been a bit of an idiot last night and drank too much.” 

When I felt Reg step slowly away from me I assumed that was it- he was leaving me to my slow and much deserved death. I closed my eyes to reduce the spinning, reasoning that if he left me alone I would either puke or eventually feel well enough to slink back home. 

A few moments later I felt a presence at my shoulder. Reg had somehow materialized again. Was he kicking me out? I supposed it was only fair. 

I felt a glass bottle in one of my hands, and heard a voice telling me to take a drink. I didn’t feel like it but couldn’t imagine that it would make anything worse, so I took a few gulps. It tasted sour and smelled of vinegar.

Gradually, it felt like someone had turned a dimmer switch on my nausea. I looked up in surprise. 

Reg was seated at his desk, and he met my eye as I looked up. 

“One of my clients has terrible morning sickness. I keep a few bottles of ginger kombucha in my office...it seems to help her immensely.” 

I winced. “Oh, that’s the stuff Maddy keeps banging on about. She’s going to be insufferable when she finds out I’ve tried it. She’s gone mad for probiotics. Sells her own supplements.” 

This Reg fellow didn’t seem to know what to do with me once he’d come to my rescue. He looked like an uncomfortable solicitor. Now that I no longer felt the imminent bony grasp of death’s fingers, I remembered why we were meeting.

“Well, Reg, thanks ever so much for that pick-me-up. I also wanted to thank you in advance for agreeing to be on the old podcast.” I tried to smile winningly. I wasn’t entirely firing on full thrusters at this point, but I was damned well going to make the attempt. “As you can probably tell, I am woefully underqualified to answer most of the questions I receive. Sometimes that’s not a problem, but with a few of them I thought it would be important to get a smart person’s perspective.”

Reg nodded. I had meant my speech to be taken as a compliment and yet he didn’t look particularly complimented. He did, however, bring out a sheet of paper on which he had clearly printed out the questions I had sent him beforehand. 

“I did make some notes and I wanted to go over-”

I held up my hand to stop him. 

“Unless it’s about specific logistics or you wouldn’t like to answer a question, I’d actually prefer to get it on the recording.” 

Reg raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I might disagree with you on some of these answers.” 

“That’s all part of the fun, Reg! Now let me get out my equipment and let’s get started, eh?” 

\---- 

Bertie: What ho what ho what ho! Welcome to “Ask Wooster”, an advice podcast for confused chaps, befuddled beazels, and everyone in between. I am your host, Bertie Wooster, your expert on all things. My guest for the day is Reg Jeeves, a certified therapist at the Ganymede Group, a practice that specializes in therapy for LGBTQ et cetera folks. So an ACTUAL expert. Say hello, Reg!

Reg: Hello.

Bertie: Now, Reg and I don’t know each other all that well except for the fact that Reg just saved me from a disastrous blunder because I showed up to record with the most massive hangover! It was a blight on the Wooster soul, and he saved me with some ginger kombucha. What a hero. And now he’s looking at me like he’s surprised I told this story, likely because he hasn’t listened to many episodes of my podcast...is that correct? 

Reg: I did listen to the most recent one. 

Bertie: Ah, yes, newt-gazing with Gussie, what a lark. Well I’m sorry to say I do tend to get into the weeds on personal details here, so just prepare yourself for that old chap. Anyway. We were going to answer some of the questions I’ve received that are too much of a stretch for the Wooster bean. Reg, would you like to read the first one? 

Reg: Of course. “Dear Bertie, I am a cis-woman who identifies as bisexual and I have a bit of a silly problem. Among my group of friends who are both queer and straight, for some reason, I have gotten a rather girly nickname. I don’t like it because even though I am a cis-woman I don’t feel very girly, so it just seems wrong to me. But one of my friends is non-binary and I don’t want to insult their identification. Can I tell my friends to cut it out with the girly nickname? Or if I’m cis should I just be grateful they aren’t misgendering me?” And this is from Jamie in Reading. 

Bertie: Well Reg, what do you say old chap? I have had a similar problem before- one year in school, my friends decided to call me Bobo. It was rather unflattering and I didn’t like it one bit.

Reg: Were you able to stop your friends from using the nickname? 

Bertie: Not exactly. I think they stopped because my friend Boko started and it was too bally hard for them to keep the names straight. 

Reg: So not a solution that presents itself in Jamie’s situation. 

Bertie: I’d say it’s unlikely, but not impossible. Jamie, one thing you could hope for is to have a friend who has a NAME much like the girly nickname you have. Is it Jojo? So maybe find a friend Joanne, or...hmm. I’ll keep thinking about this.

Reg: *cough* For what it’s worth, I think it is important that when you have good friends, you should be able to ask certain things of them- within reason. It is reasonable for you to say that you are uncomfortable with the nickname. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with being cisgender or otherwise. Of course..there are some friends who would enjoy calling you a name that makes you uncomfortable, but I would argue that those are not good friends. 

Bertie: So, Jamie should stick up for herself and tell her friends to shove off? 

Reg: Not in those exact words, but yes. Sometimes in the moment it can be difficult, so I would suggest Jamie try taking a few of her friends aside and explaining that the nickname makes her uncomfortable, and request their help in shutting down further use of said nickname as needed. That should be enough to stop. 

Bertie: If they’re true blue pals they’ll be more than willing to help Jamie out, what?’

Reg: Precisely. 

Bertie: Like, not that we’re old chums or anything, but if you said you’d prefer if I called you Mr. Jeeves or somesuch I’d be happy to comply. It’s the decent thing to do. 

Reg: That’s correct. 

Bertie: You don’t, though, do you? I mean you don’t prefer to be called Mr. Jeeves. 

Reg: No, I can’t say that is my preference. 

Bertie: But you would tell me if you did. Prefer being called Mr. Jeeves. Or Jeeves. Or...Reginald- I say, is your full name Reginald?

Reg: It is. And yes, I would tell you. Reg is fine. 

Bertie: Oh good. Well, glad we got that sorted out. Do you have a middle name? 

Reg: Is that relevant?

Bertie: Well, only if you wanted me to call you by your middle name. Do you?

Reg: No.

Bertie: Then I suppose not! See, Jamie? Asserting boundaries and asking friends for help is as easy as pie. Good luck! And now, let’s move on to a word from our sponsors. 

\--- 

Bertie paused the recording. I was surprised for a moment that he didn’t launch into one of the ads before I realized they were likely pre-recorded.

“So what do you think so far?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Bertie leaned back, clearly in better spirits than when he first arrived. “You’re doing quite well, you know. Your answer was great.” 

I was embarrassed that Bertie’s reassurance was, apparently, sorely needed. Halfway through the recording I had placed my palms absently on my trousers and been horrified when I left damp imprints. When Bertie had stumbled in, I’d had half a mind to tell him I’d changed my mind. Between his strange outfit (and a backpack that looked like a cheeseburger, of all things) and his clearly hungover state, there were plenty of reasons to have immediate reservations about Bertie’s ability to record, not to mention his state of mind in general.

After the restorative, I tried to soothe my nerves and reason with myself that this was likely how podcasters dressed nowadays, and Bertie had perked up enough by that point to seem a little more human. His clothing might have been garish, but his manner was fairly calm and I felt a little more at ease.

Once it became a conversation it was easier for me to see Bertie as a client- I was able to maintain a professional demeanor and put my mind to answering the questions I had been provided to the best of my ability. He was clearly trying to inject a little bit of fun, but it was easy enough to play straight man to his rambling style of humor. 

“Thank you. I admit I’m surprised, but I find it not dissimilar from my professional practice.” 

Bertie nodded thoughtfully. “Kind of like therapy, you mean.” 

“Yes. It’s just a discussion between two individuals. And of course I try to provide my professional opinion.” 

There was a pause as I watched Bertie consider his next sentence. “I have to say, you aren’t anything like I expected.” 

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant. “No?”

“Well, my regular therapist is what you might call...an odd bird, so I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. But you don’t all wear this usually, do you?” He gestured to my suit. I suppressed a laugh. 

“No, there isn’t a particular dress code. I choose to dress the way I do because I find it helpful to my work.” 

“Like a uniform?” 

“In a way. Therapy can be very personal, and as a therapist you tread a fine line between supporting your client as a person without taking too much on yourself. The training is most important, of course, but extra layers of differentiation between work and outside of work can be helpful.” 

“Gosh, I don’t think I have anything like that for my podcasting. I mean, there’s the equipment.” 

I shrugged. “From my observation, podcasting seems like it blurs the lines between work and play. In my limited understanding, it seems as though a lot of the entertainment comes from the enjoyment of listening to the personalities behind the podcast.” 

I wondered if I had offended Bertie, having essentially implied he didn’t have a job, but he seemed thoughtful.

“I suppose that’s true. There are work-like parts of it but a lot of it is having fun.” He sighed. “Speaking of, we’d best get to it.”

\----

After Reg checked with Sarah re: the relevant social media and websites for the Ganymede Group to re-record the sign off, I went through the task of looking through the file quickly on my laptop to check the audio wasn’t wonky. I didn’t want to have to bother Sarah and Reg again, having both shown up late and gone a little over. Reg looked like he was itching to leave, poor man. 

“This all looks good. I’ll do some editing over the weekend and then send you the finished file, Sarah.” 

“Thank you. And you’ll wait for my approval before posting it?” 

This had been reiterated several times over email and in the contract I had signed (not that I had read the contract in its entirety, but that was at the very bottom and in bold so it was hard to miss). I had been bent over my laptop but I stood up and faced Sarah, contriving to look hurt. 

“Sarah, if I didn’t know better I’d say you sound paranoid.” I put a hand over my heart. “We Woosters have a code, you know. I would rather throw my laptop into the Thames than break my word.” 

She looked unimpressed. “So you will wait.” 

“Yes, of course. Anyway, Reg didn’t say anything that would sully the name of the practice, did you Reg?” 

“It seems highly unlikely.” 

“There you go, you see? He was a paragon of professionalism.” So professional he didn’t laugh at any of my jokes, I thought, but decided not to say aloud. To be honest, after recording so many episodes of the podcast with people I was already chummy with, it had been rather jarring to do so with someone who was decidedly un-chummy. It wasn’t like I had felt any active animosity, more like I had been interacting with a therapy-robot of some kind. Glancing over at him on the mic I’d had the distinct feeling that I was sitting across from a stuffed frog. Making anything lighthearted out of the whole deal had been like pulling teeth, and maintaining the atmosphere hadn’t exactly been easy. Nevertheless, I had a feeling that we had recorded a decent episode at the end of it all, and was ready to start editing so I could get it out. 

“Well, thank you both for your help.” I said as I turned back to Reg and Sarah. I had the distinct impression it was time for me to leave. It occurred to me that barely an hour ago I had been nearly sick on their carpet. First impressions, eh?


	4. Reviews and Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most recent episode of Bertie's podcast gets good reviews. Reg has mixed feelings about that.

**To:** bertiewoo@wooster.net

**From:** sbhogal@ganymedegroup.com

**Cc:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com 

**Subject:** Re: Finished ep, what do you think?

Dear Bertie, 

I just finished listening to the episode. I’m delighted to say that I find no issues with it, so you have our permission to post at your leisure. 

Best,

Sarah Bhogal

**To:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com

**From:** sbhogal@ganymedegroup.com

**Subject:** I just listened to the episode

NICE JOB REG!! Also did you tell Bertie abt your failed attempt at getting your clients to call you Mr. Jeeves in the beginning or was that just a coincidence?? I LOL’ed so hard at that exchange. The answer about coming out was also GREAT.

If we get clients from this I might ask if he wants you back on…. I think you guys had good chemistry too! It was p funny. 

-S

**To:** bertiewoo@wooster.net

**From: **godsdaisychain@email.com

**Subject:** BERTIEEEE

Bertie dear your most recent podcast episode was so funny!! And you tried kombucha! I’m so excited! Are you a complete convert?? Omg. Can I send in a question for Reg? He sounds like a dream.I want him to weigh in on the ethical issues of veganism vs. vegetarianism. Can he do that? Lmk. See you next weekend?

Love you!

Mads

**To:** bertiewoo@wooster.net

**From:** iamdahliatravers@travers.net 

**Subject:** Decent

BERTIE

THAT NICE YOUNG MAN WHO WAS ON YOUR PODCAST DOESN’T SEEM LIKE A CLOT LIKE MOST OF YOUR FRIENDS... GOOD VOICE TOO  
IS HE HANDSOME???? IS HE AS ANGELA SAYS ‘SINGLE AND LOOKING TO MINGLE’????

JUST KIDDING 

YOU ARENT GETTING ANY YOUNGER THOUGH HAHAHA  
  
BERTIE BUT SERIOUSLY IF YOU ARE STARTING TO INTERVIEW ACTUAL PROFESSIONALS ON THAT PODCAST OF YOURS I MIGHT CONSIDER DEIGNING TO BE INTERVIEWED BY MY FAVOURITE NEPHEW

SEE YOU NEXT WEEKEND

LOL (LOTS OF LOVE)

D

\---

Dcfrank15 rated “Ask Wooster” 5 stars: “Podcast is a great listen on the tube. Also new guest really good! Starting to feel like an actual advice show too? Entertaining AF.”

Angangang rated “Ask Wooster” 0 stars: “BRING BACK REG!!!! He was lovely! Not the same without him :( :( :( ”

\---

**From:** bertiewoo@askwooster.net

**To:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com , sbhogal@ganymedegroup.com

**Subject:** Another recording? 

Hello all! 

Was wondering if we could get another recording on the books? I have to say, Reg, everyone loved the episode with you in it and I’m beginning to think they’d rather just have you run the podcast haha! No pressure but if you’d like to come back on I do have more questions that could use your professional expertise. 4 people have submitted questions specifically for you...I hope you’ve been getting some more clients out of this!

Cheers!

Bertie

\---

I had just seen a client out of my office and saw Sarah eyeing me from her desk. Her expression was different from the usual suspects, “awkward client interaction” or “fancy a cuppa”, so I waited for her to follow me back into my office.

“Have you checked your email?” Sarah leaned against my door, grinning.

I sighed, sitting down in my desk chair. It had been a trying day, and I wasn't up to imagining what would cause Sarah such amusement.

Sarah winced. “No, of course not, sorry. I’m just excited- we got an email from Bertie Wooster. He wants to record another episode!”

“Absolutely not.” I shook my head.

“What? Why?” 

“He made me sound-” I paused, evaluating how childish I might seem simply by saying this, but it had bothered me “-like a robot.” I had hoped to forget that I had ever been on a podcast at all, but when Sarah had raved about it, I thought I would try and listen. If listening to myself speak wasn’t grating enough, I realized that my attempt at professionalism during the episode had turned into a kind of bizarre inability to understand humor at all. There were several points where Bertie had been trying to make a decent joke and I had breezed right past him or been completely silent. Pregnant pauses abounded. I couldn’t understand how anyone could listen through the whole thing, let alone say they’d enjoyed it.

“You do sound like a robot sometimes; that’s not his fault.” Sarah shrugged. “No offense. It was more charming than anything else. I thought you played off each other well- it made things seem funny but also thoughtful.”

I was annoyed that my roboticism was apparently a character trait. “We don’t need any more publicity- we already have enough clients.”

“That episode brought in 5 new clients. We could take on at least 5 more, no problem.”

“One man only set up the appointment because he wanted to hear my voice, Sarah!” It is a point of pride for me that I am able to manage my emotions without too much effort most of the time, and therefore it was particularly unnerving to hear myself close to shouting. The appointment itself had been incredibly awkward- the man had spent the session closing his eyes in obvious pleasure as I spoke, then asked if I had my own podcast he could listen to to help him sleep.

“Yes it’s too bad- after you told him to leave he didn’t book a follow up appointment…” She smirked at me, then turned her expression serious. “Seriously, though-who knew fanboys would a problem? But they don’t have to be YOUR clients. We can just say that you’re booked up and refer them to someone else in the practice. It’s true anyway. I booked your last Thursday slot this morning.” 

I sighed again. Sarah creased her brows in concern, sitting down in one of the armchairs. 

“Seriously, though, Reg- is everything ok? I do think we should record another episode because I think it was entertaining and yet somehow helpful, which is pretty amazing if you think about it. But if that’s going to be too much for you, we can talk about alternatives.”

I couldn’t think; I felt a headache at the back of my temples that had been threatening all day. “I think I just need a day or two to consider- I had a rough appointment and I worry it might be affecting my mood.” 

“Oh, of course. And listen- if you don’t want to, we can ask someone else to do it. I think Paula Jenkins is a little jealous of all the attention you’ve been getting.” 

I chuckled darkly. “She is welcome to take my place.”

“I’ll give you the weekend- I think you’re the best match, to be honest. I know you don’t think so, but the two of you made for pretty entertaining listening.”

I didn’t quite understand how that could be the case when I had been a “robot” nearly the whole time, but I didn’t try and argue with her. I could finish up my appointment notes in my flat. Perhaps while watching an Austen adaptation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anything in life quite so satisfying as writing fake emails? Unclear. Thanks so much to everyone who has left comments/kudos/feedback so far! It's much appreciated. :)


	5. Rugby Match-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie is the victim of some scheming at a rugby match.

Instead of meeting up in a hippy tea parlor or oxygen bar, Maddy had changed our monthly catch-up around to request that we attend Bingo Little’s rugby game. I hadn’t seen Bingo in a while and I was perfectly happy to attend, having missed his matches to record the past few weekends, but I was stumped as to why Maddy might have requested it. 

“Maddy I can’t imagine you’ll be able to peddle your snake oils to Bingo’s rugby team, I don’t know why you came along.” 

“Bertie you mustn’t call them snake oils- macrobiotics are legitimate-”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to hear it! We are here to watch some good old fashioned rugby, and see Bingo’s team pummel the other team- what were they called? The Runners?”

“Steelers, Bertie.”

“Strange name.” 

“Angela wanted to meet me here.” 

“Oh, Angela’s coming as well? Well we’ll have a good squad for cheering, then. I hope she’s here soon so we can practice a few before we get started.”

We arrived at the pitch as the players were warming up, and by way of shirt colors found ourselves over on Bingo’s side. The addition of my cousin Angela to our little crew was, if anything, even more confusing, but Maddy didn’t seem to be offering any of the players or watchers any of her pamphlets so I tried not to wonder too hard about it. 

“Bertie! Maddy! You came!” Bingo trotted up to us with a grin, decked out in his rugby kit. I don’t mind saying that I have always found rugby kits attractive- it’s likely what started my short run of a relationship years ago with said rugby-kit wearer. What ended the relationship, of course, was Bingo carrying on with a teammate of his, so I suppose the sport has a sort of universal appeal. 

“Of course we came, you dolt.” I said, irritated by the memory of our short-lived relationship. Really, we’d been friends for so much longer than that it was silly to think too much on it now. I’d since started a podcast to help him, so the whole ex thing was water under the bridge. 

“Yes, we want to see you pummel the other guys!” Maddy said, though she didn’t sound as though her heart was in it. 

“Maddy, what brought you here?” Bingo looked confused.

Maddy looked hurt. “Why wouldn’t I come to your rugby match, Bingo?”

“You’ve never come to one before.” 

“Never?” Maddy batted her eyelashes in a last-ditch attempt to save herself.

Bingo, apparently, wasn’t phased. “No. Bertie’s been to loads of them but it’s the first time I’ve seen you here.” 

“Oh… Well, Angela wanted to meet me here. She said she’s found a boyfriend for Bertie.” 

“What!?” Bingo chirped.

It took my brain cells a few moments to catch up. “WHAT?” I boggled at Maddy. “What do you mean?” 

“It sounds like Angela has picked out a man for you to date, Bertie. Don’t be daft.” Bingo condescended, quite quickly for someone who had just been surprised as I had. He, of course, was one to talk. He had once been so over the moon for a woman that he hadn’t heard any of the reasons why she didn’t want to date him until he had gone in for a kiss and she’d swatted him one. 

“No, but- what- I don’t need a boyfriend! I’m perfectly fine by myself. I have my podcast-”

“Bertie,” Maddy said in far too condescending a tone, clearly this was becoming a trend, “A podcast does not take care of all one’s needs.”

“You sound like Aunt Dahlia-WAIT, it was Dahlia, wasn’t it- she put Angela up to this rubbish! My own flesh and blood, betraying me-” 

“Hi Bertie!”

“Speak of the devil- Angela- What on earth is this about you trying to set me up with someone?” 

“Maddy, you weren’t supposed to tell him!” 

It was at this point that several things happened. Bingo’s coach, red-faced and nearly out of breath, finally dragged him back to the pitch. Maddy started crying, and Angela whacked me ‘round the head. 

“Now see what you’ve done! You made Maddy cry.”

I wanted to yell “OH COME ON” in my most outraged voice because, I mean, clearly it wasn’t my fault. But I never did like to see Maddy cry even though she is a little like Old Faithful about it, by which I mean the waterworks come with regularity. Even if the tears flow freely often, one still has to be affected by it. So Angela glared me off to see about getting Maddy something warm to drink. 

I was on my way back with a hot chocolate when I saw a group of the opposing team chatting about something or other. I was mainly looking them over to assess them as competition for Bingo’s team, along with a little bit of checking them out, but then I heard one of the players look over and yell “Jeeves!” and just as I was putting together where I had heard that name before, I saw Reg- the buttoned up therapist -trotting toward the pitch. 

I don’t know if I can appropriately describe how I would have absolutely not recognized him if not for that moment, because he absolutely looked like a different man. Most of us mortals are enhanced by a suit- it makes one look suave and sophisticated. Reg had certainly looked sophisticated, but he’d also had an air of untouchableness about him. I supposed it was what he meant by wearing it as a pseudo-uniform. For whatever reason it had not occurred to me that Reg, who had sat across from me to record a podcast, was built like a Greek god underneath the navy fabric. Plus, he was grinning from ear to ear, clearly in his element and happy to see his teammates who welcomed him with a raucous “JEEVES!” (I assumed that must be his rugby nickname. Some rugby names, I am told, are not particularly intelligent, but a small part of me was grateful he wasn’t like one of Bingo’s teammates whose rugby name is, I kid you not, Burgerman).

I have no idea how long I stared but I only noticed I’d been staring when Angela popped up and stole the hot chocolate. 

“Oh, you found him.” She said calmly as she took a sip. She made a face. “Oh, Bertie, this is far to sweet.”

I snapped my eyes away from Reg. “It’s not like there’s that many options for hot bev around- wait, what do you mean ‘you found him’?”

“He’s your podcast guy, isn’t he?” She motioned over at Reg. I have known Angela since we were both in diapers. I know when she is affecting nonchalance. She was affecting nonchalance like nobody’s business, and clearly something was up.

“Reg? Oh yes, he was on- I believe it was episode 44.” I said, taking the hot bev back from Angela. I was trying for a similar nonchalance. “That’s for Maddy, by the by, not for you.”

“Oh, she’s gotten distracted talking to one of the rugby boyfriends about her supplements. But back to Reg…” Angela’s expression was stirring an uneasiness in my gut. This was how she acted when she was scheming.

“Hang on now just a second Angela, am I right in thinking that you- that is- you’re trying to set me up with-” 

“Ang!” One of the opposing team (the Runners? The Stowaways? The Pedestrians? How was I supposed to remember that ruddy team name?) jogged up (also why do rugby players always jog everywhere?). He was a nice enough looking chap with a bright red beard. Didn’t really seem like Angela’s type, but oh well. 

“Hi Ben! Ben, this is my cousin Bertie. Bertie, Ben and Tuppy work together.” 

Ben with the ginger beard smiled as my queasiness increased with the memory that Angela and Tuppy had recently started seeing each other. Angela, being my favourite cousin, and Tuppy, being not even ranked in my top 50 friends. Come to think of it, perhaps that’s why I had been drinking so much the night we went out to celebrate Tuppy’s new job. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Ben.” I said, trying to come back to the problem at hand. Was Angela trying to set me up with Ben, then?

“Ang told me you do a podcast” Ben said with a chuckle. “I listened to the episode with Jeeves in it- pretty good.” 

“Jeeves?” I said weakly, beginning to see this conversation to its inevitable conclusion and not particularly liking it. 

“Yeah, crazy connection! I couldn’t believe it, our Jeeves being a smart-arse on a podcast.” Ben turned back to the crowd of ruggers. “Oi! Jeeves!”

And there it was. This perfectly pleasant if somewhat robotic-seeming man, who first met me with an ugly hangover, was about to see me a second time with my dratted cousin trying to push me on him like a fishmonger selling her wares. I wondered if it would be bad form to just run off now to save us all from embarrassment. 

The worst part was, he wasn’t even robotic. In his rugby kit, with his team, he was all smiles and ease, and somehow he’d transformed into the handsomest man I’d ever seen, and it was really quite frustrating. 

He smiled now, and if he felt strange to be un-uniformed around me, he didn’t show it. “Hello Bertie. Good to see you.” 

Unfortunately I wasn’t quite as comfortable at the discovery there was a human beneath the therapist!Reg armor. “Same! Haha. Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t realize you played rugby.” Have you ever talked to someone without trying to look too hard at their face, or indeed, any other part of them, because suddenly it’s too much? I’m sure it made me look quite mad.

“Oh, Jeeves here has been playing with us for, what, two years now? Our good ol’ eight man.” Ben gave Reg a hearty clap on the back, which I am given to believe is standard form of rugger communication.

“Just about.” Reg, being significantly taller than Ben, placed his arm amiably on Ben’s shoulder, his brown eyes amused.

Angela’s blue eyes, meanwhile, sparkled with evil. She elbowed me in the ribs. “Bertie, aren’t you going to introduce me to-”

“Ah yes cousin Angela, she’s my cousin you see, cousin Angela, this is Jee- I mean Reg, right, that’s what you like to be called, Reg? Cousin Angela, this is Reg, who guested on episode 44 of my podcast, did a great job, hoping to have him come back on actually- not that we need to talk about that now- but you did a great job, I have heard from a lot of people who really enjoyed that episode in particular, Reg, just so you know, well done!” I had spoken multiple sentences before I realized I was rambling and Angela was frowning a little. “And, yes. Cousin Angela, Podcast Reg. Who also plays rugby. Which is why he is here. I think that about sums it up.” 

Angela rallied. “Well, Reg, Bertie’s talked a lot about how great you were on the podcast. I hope you do go back on.” 

While I had also been hoping for a positive answer, I didn’t want to pressure Reg to come back on, especially after I bungled the first meeting. “Angela, this really isn’t the time-” 

“No, it’s all right Bertie, I was meaning to send an email to you and Sarah. I was hesitant to do a second episode because I didn’t want to be a gimmick. But…” He shrugged. By god, his shoulders were amazing. “I was convinced that there is truly value in going on again. It’s nice to hear you received positive feedback from your listeners, as well.” 

“You would help Bertie out immensely.” Angela butted in, which was rather rude of her. “He got a zero star review after you didn’t come back.” 

That was true, but how did Angela know that? 

“Hang on, the screenname on that review was Ang-something, that was you, wasn’t it?” 

“Oh I can’t imagine you would think that of me, honestly.” Angela waved an airy palm with the absolute lack of guilt only Angela can affect.

“Angela if that really was you, you know I need the reviews to stay consistently good or else I go down in the rankings-” 

“It doesn’t matter because I’m sure as soon as Reg comes back whoever it is will delete their review.” Angela’s voice was suddenly steel-like, sounding eerily like her mum. 

“Which I’m so glad to hear you will, Reg.” She was back to sounding sweet, which is also how Aunt Dahlia can sound but only when she wants a favor from you. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Bertie has to finish his hot chocolate delivery.” 

Ben chose this moment to remember that he was part of a conversation. “Oh, by the way, you’re all invited to the social after the match! Good to meet you Bertie! Bye Ang!”

I decided everything would proceed more quickly if I kept my mouth closed. Said mouth stayed closed until we reached Maddy. She was just finishing up handing a pamphlet to a stunned-looking rugby supporter. The pamphlet read “Microbes Are YOU: How To Heal Your Gut Biome And Your FUTURE”.

“Oh, how did it go?” Maddy asked brightly.

Angela tsked. “He bungled it right up.” 

“Excuse me?” I huffed.

“You weren’t very suave Bertie, I don’t know how you’re going to convince Reg to date you if you keep rambling on like that.” 

This was really too much. Not only was I being pushed into relationships I didn’t have any part in choosing, but I was also being harangued for it? I mean to say. One can only take so much.

“Angela, Maddy, while I appreciate your thoughtfulness I really am not on the market for another relationship and I absolutely do not want you hurling me at random unsuspecting men like a- like a- shot putt.”

“But Bertie, you’d be soo adorable together! Angela and I thought so after we listened to that episode of your podcast.”

“And you really don’t have much else going on in your life right now, so what is there to lose?” Angela added with a smirk.

“GIRLS.” I was livid at this point. I really don’t usually get angry, and I don’t mind being the subject of some friendly jokes from time to time, but this was beyond childish. “Friends. I don’t know how to get this through your heads. I may be gay, but I am NOT some kind of human Ken doll slash romantic novel hero for you to set up as you please. This is MY life, thank you, and I don’t want to be shot putted about. That should be a reasonable enough request to make.” I was actually reminded of one of the questions Reg had answered on ‘Ask Wooster’ as I told them off. As Reg had put it, I was ‘correctly advocating for my needs’. “I need you to not butt in when you are not asked to or needed, and I need you to respect that and not make me feel like a toy, or a shot-putt, or someone’s protagonist, or anything else.”

I suppose I’d pulled out the “I’m serious” voice, because at the end of my speech their eyes were both wide. Maddy looked like she was about to cry again, and I was momentarily grateful that I still had some hot (well, cold by now) chocolate. 

I sighed. “Can we agree that this was a bad idea and just enjoy the rugby match?”

“Yes.” Angela said, though she looked a bit sour about it. 

“Oh, Bertie, I’m so sorry.” Maddy said, her lip wobbling a little. I gave her the cold bev which seemed to staunch any impending tears although she remained somewhat wet around the eyes for the entire first half.

It wasn’t a bad game, in the end, although Bingo’s team ended up losing by three points. I didn’t feel as outraged on his behalf as I should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not play rugby but I have watched many games and I did very seriously do some research to figure out what place in the team Reg would be, because it was very important to me.
> 
> Also just a note- this fic is a hella slow burn because I wanted both a meet-cute (multiple meet-cutes? man idk) and for the characters to not seriously consider dating each other until they'd gotten to know each other.


	6. Jeeves Sibling Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reg skips the rugby social to hang out with his sister Violet. They have a deeper chat than he means to.

While the game hadn’t been our best showing of the season, it was a win and therefore a cause for celebration. I had even scored two tries, which was a decent result, especially considering how disconcerted I’d felt at the game’s beginning. I have always had difficulty when different “spheres” of my life interconnect, and I had never invited anyone from my professional life to a rugby game, or spoken about my professional life to my teammates. It was an uncomfortable feeling to realize that being on the podcast had, in a sense, opened the work side of my life up to whoever would like to listen. I knew that nothing bad had happened, and that many people combined their social and work lives seamlessly, and that a certain amount of “messiness” was expected in modern life. That hadn’t eased the strange feeling in my stomach when Ben had called me over and I’d seen Bertie (as always, brightly colored in a lavender bomber jacket and floral trousers) and he’d introduced me in a rambling manner to his cousin. It had made me uneasy in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

After the match, Ben clapped me on the back. “Coming to the social, Jeeves? I think Angela’s going to drag Bertie.”

I smiled apologetically. “I have plans to see my sister.” She needed my help on an art project of hers, although if her recent texts were to be believed she would likely spend the entire time venting about our parents. “I’ll have to miss out this time.”

Ben’s expression turned odd. “That’s too bad, Jeeves… I promised Ang, but I suppose you can’t get out of a family obligation.”

“Why would you promise a coworker’s girlfriend that I would attend a social?” I asked, confused. This was out of the ordinary behavior for Ben, who was usually fairly straightforward with me and our other teammates. He was known for excessive yelling during the scrum, but that was hardly an unusual offense in rugby.

Ben frowned. “Jeeves- Do you like Bertie?”

I have spent a long time teaching myself about people; about their quirks and eccentricities, and therefore in most situations I am usually able to tell what someone’s reactions will be before they even react. This is one of the things that allows me to excel as a therapist, and can give me the upper hand in most interactions. This conversation, however, had the better of me.

“I don’t know him well. He seems perfectly pleasant, but I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

Ben laughed a little. “You know, Jeeves, I’ve always wondered why you never pulled when we were out, or went for Klondike or Jugs who were both mad over you for a bit. Are you straight? You wouldn’t be the first, even on our team.”

“Excuse me?” I had clearly missed something.

“Well, I’m just surprised, you know? Most guys on the team, they come on board and they see the whole thing like open season. You’ve seen how incestuous it can get. It usually works out all right, but it’s rare to see someone turn down every offer. At first I thought you were just trying to keep out of the drama, but now this Bertie shows up and he’s a bit of all right and you didn’t seem to notice that his cousin was wingmanning the hell out of him. Unless you’ve got a secret husband?” He looked at my hands doubtfully.

“I don’t have a secret husband, Ben.” I was almost relieved to have a straightforward question to answer. The other explanation would be harder, and I paused a moment before I responded. “I am...I compartmentalize well, and I have high boundaries. Teammates are off limits. As are coworkers, and clients, and Bertie is...a strange mix of both.”

Ben looked unconvinced. “If you say so. Sometimes I wonder if our eight’s made of stone, is all.” He clapped me on the back again before heading off to the showers.

I had hoped leaving the locker room would end uncomfortable discussions of my sexuality for the day, but unfortunately, I was not that lucky. After taking the train to my sister Violet’s pottery studio, I found myself distracting her from ranting about our mother with the story of my rugby match and the odd interactions before and after. She was not as easily deterred as Ben, and had multiple follow up questions. I kept hoping someone else would come into the studio so I could beg off for privacy reasons, but for some reason the space remained stubbornly empty aside from the two of us.

“What do you mean, you compartmentalize? But then how do you meet people?” She asked, rinsing off the paintbrushes we would use on her project. Violet took after mother in her looks more than myself and our other siblings, in that she had clearly Chinese features, with only her light hazel eyes and red tint to her brown hair that marked her as mixed. I have been told that I “pass” as European, which to my mind says more about the wider culture than anything else, but it made our experiences growing up fairly different. While I had dark hair, I had inherited the Jeeves nose which was long and somewhat Roman. The occasional drunk relative would point out that I had my mother’s cheekbones and eyes, but most people would have a much easier time finding my father’s features.

I studied one of the bowls Vy was painting. She had been chosen for an up-and-coming art show put on by one of the local foundations in a few months. Violet has always been the most artistic of the Jeeves household, and I was extremely proud of her for her work, and even prouder that she had been chosen for the show. When she texted me to ask if I had time to help her paint some of her initial pieces, I couldn’t say no.

This particular set of pieces was a commentary on the obsession with Chinoiserie that was popular throughout Europe during the 17th century. She was making her own pottery inspired by modern England, with intricate paintings of graffiti’d train cars and similar modern tableaux. I noticed on this bowl there was a scene of two well-dressed people stepping out of a black cab, casually ignoring a homeless woman seated on the sidewalk. It was certainly a commentary.

“Reggie, you’re getting distracted.” She lifted the bowl from my hands with an admonishing scowl. Her chipped nails were painted a rose gold. I realized with surprise I’d seen the same color on Bertie’s nails on the day I’d met him.

It took a moment for me to realize Vy was tilting her head at me, studying my face with disturbing precision. I tried for a supportive smile. “It’s lovely work, Vy.”

Vy rolled her eyes. “Mum says it’s too political. Like she didn’t teach us to be political! I swear, it’s like the woman who told me to never take any shit for being half-Chinese and the woman who tells me that my art is too political aren’t the same person.”

I sighed, and made a choice. It was either listen to Vy rant about mother again or expound upon my sexuality, and while both were exceedingly unpleasant options I had hit my limit on one of them.

“I’m not easily attracted to people- that’s in addition to the compartmentalization.” I said, after a moment. Vy finished drying the brushes and started to lay out the paints. She had asked me to come and help paint the backgrounds of her pieces, which I was pleased to do as it gave me an excuse to see how she was doing. I hadn’t imagined I would get so fed up with her complaining about our mother that we would be having this conversation.

Before Vy could ask a follow up question, I continued on. “I prefer to be attracted to someone on all counts- physical, intellectual, moral, et cetera, before I enter into any kind of relationship with them. It means that most people tend to disqualify themselves before we reach an understanding.”

Vy rolled her eyes. “ So in English, you mean you don’t do hookups- oh don’t make that face, Reggie, we can talk about this. Don’t be so prim about it.”

“They’re not my preference.” I said simply, wishing distantly I had a higher tolerance for complaints about my mother. I refrained from adding that I’d learned they weren’t my preference after University, because English or not, that’s not something one wants to talk about with one’s little sister.

“I guess I thought all gay guys were...you know... always up for it.” Vy said thoughtfully. She motioned to a paint color and a vase that she wanted me to start on. “Do these two sections, alright? Then we can wait for it to dry while you start on another one.”

“Gay men are humans, and therefore have as many experiences as humanity has to offer.” I heard a note of lecturing in my voice, which I knew made Vy roll her eyes and stop listening, so I bit my tongue after that.

“I know that. It’s just my friend Harry just seems to be always hooking up- I mean not that I assumed you did that, but, you know.” She shrugged. “We’ve never met anyone you’ve dated. I wondered.”

“Nothing has lasted long enough for me to want to bring the person home.” I said honestly.

Vy was quiet for a time, long enough that I started to feel relieved. “Were mum and dad… you know… ok, when you came out?”

I realized with some surprise that we had never talked about this. Being the youngest, Violet had only been six when I came out. It occurred to me that my parents had likely shielded this from her, and I, assuming she knew the basics, had never thought to bring it up. By the time she’d been old enough to understand it had felt like ancient history. I wondered if anyone had ever told her, or if she’d simply figured it out for herself.

“Were they...not ok?” She prompted, again. She paused her painting and looked at me earnestly.

I sighed. “It was eleven years ago, Vy. Things have come so far since then- it was a...very different time. They didn’t know many gay people. Father was surprised. He didn’t want me to speak of it. Mum was...fine, at first. She told me she loved me the same.” I paused as I considered my words, concentrating as I drew my brush along the lines on the pottery. “After a few weeks it became clear she wasn’t comfortable. In the end it took her a longer time than Dad to come around.” In the intervening time I made my peace with our parents’ initial reactions to coming out. Of course some of it had been painful, but by now I felt we had reached a comfortable understanding.

“Figures.” Vy muttered, picking a small paintbrush to put some delicate details on a takeout box.

“No coming out experience is smooth.” I said, and heard once again the tone of lecture, which I tried to stop. “I didn’t know what to expect. There were so many ways they could have reacted...Of course it didn’t go perfectly, and I was hurt at the time but since then they’ve come around. If you’ll recall, you and Dad even attended one of my rugby games recently.”

Vy laughed. “It was great. Dad loved cheering you on. He said he never thought he’d see you play rugby, and I know he was surprised that some of your teammates were so big.”

I had a cherished photo on my phone of Vy, Dad, and myself, on the rugby pitch. My father had even purchased a grey and blue scarf, our team colors. Seeing his ease with supporting my queer team had been incredibly moving.

“What matters ultimately is that they didn’t turn me out or say I had to change. They had some big hurdles to overcome, some of their own prejudices and some of society’s, but they managed to overcome them.” I thought of the scarf, and the past few Christmases my mother had packed an extra serving of food for me to take home ‘to share with...anyone special’. “...That effort means the world to me. I have encountered many people who were not so lucky.”

“I guess. I’m mad they weren’t better about it in the beginning, though.”

At this point I managed to turn the conversation from the circumstances of my coming out to how Vy was doing in school. She was hoping to get a scholarship to an art school and this exhibition of her art would help her CV in that regard.

“They’re going to do a silent auction on the works we display, too. Whatever the art sells for there’s a separate foundation that will match for a scholarship, which I’ll probably need depending on where I end up going.”

I watched her make delicate brushstrokes to create a park bench. “Are you disappointed you’ll have to sell these?”

She paused thoughtfully as she cleaned her brush.

“A little. But I’d rather have the money. Mum and Dad keep reminding me they won’t be able to pay for any of it- and, well, it’s art school, so it’s not like I’m guaranteed money once I graduate. If I want to move to London I have to pay rent. It’s too far for me to commute, from their new place.”

I nodded. In many ways, my mother and father had been extremely generous with their time, but with money they’d had to be quite clear. There simply wasn’t enough for them to pay for university for all four of us, so we were each on our own from that point onward. This decision had allowed them to retire early last year, selling the restaurant and our childhood apartment above it to purchase a modest bungalow further away from the city, and even book a long-anticipated vacation. Not that they had truly retired- my mother had set up a side business consulting for gardens in the neighborhood with her exhaustive knowledge of local (and foreign) plants, and my father still offered his services as a cook for local caterers. Not necessarily because they needed the money (I had been sending money home since I’d gotten in the green, and I was certain my siblings were doing the same), but because it turned out they hated being idle.

Needless to say, for myself and my siblings there had been an incentive to go into lucrative careers. I had gone into finance at first, with Arthur reading law and Rhiannon choosing medicine. The money I made in my previous work had let me complete the additional certifications I needed to begin my new career.

“Mum said I could stay with you but I said you wouldn’t want me to.” Vy said abruptly, her eyes sliding over to me quickly before looking back at her vase.

I paused. There were certain parts of being an older sibling I thought I had grown out of, after Arthur and Rhi had started their own lives. I had been so busy the past few years I hadn’t been able to spend much time with Violet, and I was glad I wasn’t so removed from her life she couldn’t ask me for things, even indirectly.

“We can certainly discuss it as a possibility. Right now my flat only has one bedroom, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like to stay in my living room for an indeterminate amount of time.”

“It might be better than staying at home.” Vy huffed, stubborn.

“We can talk about it once you decide where you’ll go. I promise, you will have plenty of options.” I had a feeling she would end up preferring to share a flat with her friends, even with housing prices in London what they were, but I’d let her come to that option on her own.

She placed her brush on the table and reached over for a quick hug.

“Thanks, Reggie. You’re a great big brother.”

I hadn’t felt like one for a few years, but it was nice to hear the sentiment.


	7. Breakfast in the Travers Turf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie asks his aunt about the painfully awkward set-up plan. Dahlia asks Bertie to "do something" about Angela's boyfriend Tuppy.

Woosters aren’t really predisposed toward cowardice, but I felt a certain fear as I saw a notification for an email from Reg about the next recording sesh. He would, of course, be in all rights to back out after that horrendously awkward interaction with yours truly, and part of me hoped that he would. I wasn’t sure how I could maintain what little veneer of dignity I had when I’d realized that I could rather fancy Reg and made a complete fool of myself.

I had briefly entertained asking him out to dinner after the rugby match, when Bingo, Maddy, and Angela dragged me to the social and we watched what rugby players call a good time. Angela’s friend Ben had come up somewhat apologetically to say both that Reg had toddled off somewhere and that he didn’t think it would work out anyway, which served equal purposes of thoroughly mortifying me and throwing a bucket of ice water on my incipient crush. Angela and Maddy felt rather sorry about it all, at least. Tuppy joined us later and ordered us several rounds of craft beer, which was his particular obsession for the moment. I will never understand why people go mad for this stuff- it all tastes appallingly bitter to me, but Tuppy was going on and on about “IBUs” or something and yeasts of various appallingly complicated names and sour beers (oh lovely, sour AND bitter, world’s best tastes, those) and offered to come on my show to talk about them. I put him off by saying I was having Reg back on for a few more episodes, which at the time I had assumed would be a lie.

I opened the email and was surprised to see a few possible recording dates. I assumed that this meant that all was forgiven regarding the Wooster relatives and the awkward and unrequited Wooster interest, and resolved to be my most professional self for our next session.

After consulting my schedule, I shot off a quick response about the next weekend.

“Bertie, you blister, stop looking at that screen. You know it’ll rot your brain.” Dahlia shuffled into the living room in her robe, looking like she hadn’t quite woken up. It was about 10 AM and the Wooster/Travers clan are night owls, so I assumed she was the first one awake apart from myself.

“Good morning, Aunt Dahlia. I’ll stop looking at my cellphone when you stop checking your smartwatch every 30 seconds.”

“It’s got my health stats on it.” Dahlia said, affronted. “Anyway, Angela texted me last night to say you’d be here but I didn’t expect to find you awake so early. Is everything all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep well. Tuppy kept plying us with IPAs and they do awful things to my stomach.”

“IPAs- what’s this, a new drug of some kind? Bertie I should think you’d have the sense to-”

“No, Aunt, it’s a type of beer.”

“Oh. Sounds disgusting.”

I sighed. “It is.”

“Does that mean that blot Tuppy’s over, then?” Angela had moved out of the familial home some years ago, but Dahlia, as an excellent relation, kept Angela’s room as well as my guest room set up for us to crash whenever we needed to.

I shrugged. “It’s possible. They stayed out later than I did so I’m not sure whether she even came back.”

“Not my favorite of Angela’s boyfriends, this one. You think he’ll stick?”

“I hope not. He’s a friend, but I wouldn’t call him a bosom buddy.”

“Well he seems horrible.” She sighed. “I’ll go make us some tea, anyway. I doubt Tom will be up for a few hours. He was up late developing more photos of flowers.” The particular way she croaked the last word did not forebode a pleasant breakfast for Tom.

I followed Dahlia into the kitchen where she had turned the kettle on.

“Aunt Dahlia?” I asked as she grabbed the bags from the cupboard.

“Yes, Bertie?”

“You didn’t have a hand in Angela trying to set me up with Reg, did you?” I tried to affect nonchalance as I asked the question I’d been wondering all night.

Dahlia turned away from me as she looked in the fridge for the milk.

“Who, dear?” That was suspicious. She never called me dear.

“Reg, you know, the chap who was on my show. You sent me an email about him.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I just thought it was a lark- I listened to the show, and I thought it was quite funny- the way he stayed so serious when you were trying so hard to make him laugh.” She smiled fondly. “It reminded me of when Tom and I first met.”

“You met recording a podcast?” I asked, as a way of prompting her to tell me more details. I pulled a few slices of bread from a loaf to toast. Dahlia held up two fingers, so I bunged four slices in the silver toaster.

“No, silly. At Uni. Tom was always so serious, and I’d go to such great lengths to make him laugh but he’d barely notice.”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“It was, in the end, when he did notice.” Dahlia had a rather rummy smile on her face, and I started to feel uncomfortable.

Thankfully, the toast popped and the water boiled, and we were both occupied with preparing our various elements. Dahlia, unlike most of her family, has her toast with spread and Marmite, whereas I went with the traditional butter and marmalade combination.

I had just finished Marmite-ing her toast to perfection and turned the plates around to see Dahlia had placed our cups of tea on the kitchen table, steaming away, with the milk in between them.

I handed her the plate of Marmitey toast and sat down to take a bite of mine.

“I worry about you, Bertie.” Dahlia said, looking sadly at her toast (I have on good authority it wasn’t the toast that was making her upset- aside from the obvious, I have been making Dahlia’s toast to perfection for at least a decade).

“What-”

“Not that you’re not happy. You do seem to be, and I’m very glad about that. Never mind that you didn’t like graduate school. I have all my confidence that you’ll find something you enjoy, either this podcasting thing, or something else. And hell, it’s not like you don’t have the money to do whatever you want for the rest of time, assuming you’re not too stupid about it.”

I was mid-bite in my toast, but I was terrified to continue chewing because I’d never heard Dahlia speak like this before. She called me blister, pretended to hate me, but treated when I showed up in her home under various circs as a given, and taught me the perfect way to make her toast. She’d never told me how she felt about me directly. It didn’t seem right.

“I just want someone for you, you know, who will help you through the hard times. Your parents would have wanted that for you, and I want to see to it before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“Aunt Dahlia!”

“Oh shut up Bertie! I don’t mean I’m going to do it this instant, I just mean I want to make sure you have someone to love you the way you deserve. I want to do that for you, and for your parents, god bless them.”

“Aunt Dahlia…”

“And when you told us you were gay, I thought, well maybe it’ll be a little bit harder just because of the odds, you know, but still not impossible. Anyway I had guessed at it ever since you cried about not being chosen to be Cinderella in that primary school play.” She sighed. “So yes, I did try to set you up with Reg. I’m not sorry for what I did, but I am sorry it didn’t work out and that it hurt you. I hope you can see that I was trying to do something good for you.”

Finally I was able to finish my bite of toast while I mulled the info over.

“I suppose.” I said evenly. “But I don’t think your meddling is helping very much. Quite the opposite, really. I mean- I’d only met the man once, and there Angela was hawking me like a slab of salmon. It’s enough to put anyone off.”

“I did tell her to be subtle.” Dahlia grumbled.

“Your daughter is many things, but subtle is not one of them.”

She nodded sullenly and took a sip of her tea. “Yes, well, enough of this sentimental claptrap. Now what do you think I’d have to do to drive this Glossop fellow away, eh? Does he have a fear of spiders, or anything like that? As you know I try and keep out of my children’s personal lives but this one reminds me too much of a mangy goat to chance it.”

“I’m not sure, Aunt Dahlia.”

“Then do some research, Bertie. Be a good nephew and help Auntie disappear your cousin’s new beau.”

“I draw the line at disappearing him entirely, Aunt. I’m not an assassin.”

“I know. It’s too bad.” Dahlia responded wistfully, as if she were really disappointed her nephew hadn’t taken up offing people on the sly. “And..I know it’s no longer any of my business, but are you still going to be recording with this Reg fellow?”

I rolled my eyes. Dahlia and Angela were cut from the same cloth, with no subtlety whatsoever. “I guess you’ll just have to listen to the show and see.”

Dahlia clucked. “Rude, Bertie!”

“What’s Bertie done now?” Grumbled Uncle Tom, as he stepped into the kitchen in his bathrobe.

“You’re awake early.” Dahlia chided as she got up to turn the kettle back on.

Luckily, once Tom entered the kitchen and insisted on reheating one of their private chef/caterer Anatole’s meals, the conversation moved to Tom and Dahlia bickering over whether the salmon or the lamb from the previous week had been the true masterpiece.

\---

**From:** bertiewoo@wooster.com  
**To:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com  
**Subject:** Recording next week

Hello Reg!

I was thinking about next week- I was hoping to add another fellow to the podcast as he has some issues he would like to sort out on the recording. Normally I’d suggest we use the studio I rent out, but that’s under renovation. Would you mind terribly having a random stranger in your practice once again? I can set up the spare room in my apartment for recording fairly easily if you’d prefer. It’s really no trouble. Thanks again for doing this!

Cheers,  
B

**From:** sbhogal@ganymedegroup.com  
**To:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com  
**Subject:** Re:Fwd: Recording next week

Reg… just go to his place. It’s going to be too awkward to set up for three people to record in your office. -S

**From:** rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com  
**To:** bertiewoo@wooster.com  
**Subject:** Re:Recording next week

Hi Bertie,

Recording at your flat should be fine at 10am next Sunday. Please let me know the address at your earliest convenience.

Best,  
Reg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to podcast and podcast-adjacent activities next chapter, but in the meantime here's some Bertie and Aunt Dahlia family time.


	8. Ask Wooster Episode 47: Tuppy Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie records an Ask Wooster episode featuring Tuppy and Reg. It doesn't go very well.

I was running a few minutes early to Bertie’s flat, so I took a slightly longer route through more of Regent’s Park to delay my arrival. It was a pleasant walk, although my legs were sore from the previous day’s rugby match. I had a few impressive bruises that were smarting gently, but I considered a walk in the cool air to have a healing effect. The curated gardens weren’t in full bloom but they were still pleasant for a stroll.

After having attended one recording session, my anxiety was lessened this time around. I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to it, especially with another person added to the mix, but I was better prepared this time around. The awkward situation from seeing Bertie at the rugby match had been weighing on me, but Ben had made a point to tell me after apologizing that Bertie’s cousin Angela had been the mastermind behind the whole thing, and that Bertie had been, essentially, clueless. Ben had explained the whole mess to Bertie, and Bertie hadn’t seemed put out or upset- only mad at his cousin. I have learned from experience that, when it comes to misunderstandings on multiple levels and across so many parties, it’s best to simply forget the whole business unless someone brings it up.

I checked my watch as I exited the gardens and walked along the residential street toward Bertie’s flat- a few more minutes to 10, but not horrendously early, so I took the steps up to ring the buzzer.

Bertie opened the door with a smile and a welcome. He wore a shirt that looked like the top of a matching pajama set tucked into grey trousers. It was more subdued than the last few outfits I had seen him in, which was a bit of a surprise.

“Reg! Come on in. Apologies the flat’s a bit of a mess. Oh, you don’t need to take off your shoes-well if you insist, you can put them over here.” I had taken my shoes off upon entry because I noticed Bertie was in bare feet.

“I just made a pot of tea, would you like any?”

“Please. Thank you.” Bertie seemed full of nervous energy.

I took a moment while Bertie’s back was turned to take in his flat. It had been obvious to me from our first meeting that Bertie came from wealth- aside from him subtly referencing it on the podcast, his clothing was expensive, and his flat was clearly more spacious than someone running a podcast for cash could afford. His kitchen was moderately sized but well equipped, with a small table where he motioned for me to sit. It looked more well-used than I expected (as I have found many young men’s apartment kitchens are often used as an area in which to store non-perishable foods and booze). The decoration was eclectic but not overwhelming- I could see on the fridge there were magnets from various travels and also things that had likely caught his eye.

Bertie turned back with two mugs of tea and an apologetic smile.

“Tuppy’s on his way. He just texted. I’m so sorry about this- first I’m late, then, when I can’t be late my other ruddy guest is. Anyway, I was hoping you might help me. One of the reasons why I asked him on the podcast is because he’s dating my cousin Angela, and he’s…” Bertie wrinkled his nose. “He’s not well suited to her. He’s an old friend, of course, in the sense that we’ve known each other for a long time, but I wouldn’t call his particular personality a good fit for dear Angela. So I thought, why not stick him in the old podcast and see if I can’t get Reg to talk some sense into him. What do you think?”

Bertie looked at me nervously, passing me a mug with cartoon characters on it.

I didn’t recognize the characters but I took a moment to study them while I thought of how to respond. They were all different colors, including purple and blue. I wondered if the show was about magic. “I couldn’t in good conscience do something like that. I’m happy to answer questions but I’m not going to convince your friend to end his relationship-”

“Oh! No, no, I’m not asking you to do that. I…” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just asking that, when you talk with him about...everything...just keep in mind that my cousin Angela is- is whip smart, and a good egg. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“It sounds like you should speak with your cousin about this.” It sounded to me like she was in more need of help than her boyfriend, assuming Bertie’s assessment was correct.

“Yes, I thought about that, only she refuses to listen to anything I say and quite often does the opposite…Obviously don’t do anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing, but I think it will be hard to explain before you’ve met Tuppy.” Again, a grimace passed over Bertie’s expressive features while talking about his “friend”.

Bertie offered me a lemon scone. “I hope they’re alright- I made them last night. I keep watching Bake Off and it’s too difficult to watch everyone messing about with flour without trying something myself.”

The scones looked decent- a little oddly shaped, perhaps, but generally fine. I tried a small bite, and felt the taste of lemon flood my tongue, with enough sweetness to make the flavor pleasantly tangy. I thought of how I had been in my early/mid twenties and how I would have never had the time to make something like this. I was still doing work I hated for long hours, and I’d barely spent any time in my tiny flat. My cooking had focused on the cheap, easy, and fast. After leaving finance, I had wanted to cook more often, though lately I didn’t have much spare time for it between work and rugby.

The buzzer rang, and Bertie introduced me to his friend, Tuppy Glossop. Tuppy’s face reminded me somewhat of my brother Arthur’s new puppy (a French Bulldog named Mabel).

“Hey there, Reg.” His expression was unamused as he shook my hand and I tried not to make assumptions about the fact that he had shown up wearing a tracksuit like a Russian mobster. “Bertie’s told me you’re the shrink, eh? Probably helps his listeners with all their crazy problems. Well I’m sure I can add some spice to the answers too. I hope someone wrote in with financial problems! I’ll give them advice and send them an invoice, haha!” I regret to say I took an instant dislike to the man.

It is one of my worst traits that I have a tendency to judge easily and harshly, and I have spent much time since I started my career in therapy trying to curb this tendency. I see all manner of clients of all different types, and I need to be able to empathise with them and work on issues they might have without judgement. This focus on training myself out of immediate judgement was the only thing that kept me from fully writing Tuppy off completely, despite the fact he reminded me exactly of the men who had made my experience in finance so unpleasant.

“Well! Let’s head into the studio and get started, eh?” Bertie said, in an attempt to be cheerful. He was looking apologetically at me, however, which made me pessimistic about the chances of my first impression being wrong.

\---

After I shut the door behind Tuppy, I sunk into a kitchen chair with a sigh. I had just recorded likely the worst podcast in the history of podcasts. I wasn’t sure quite how I had managed to mess things up so badly- Tuppy, while not one of my close friends, had never given me reason to suspect he was actually quite so terrible as he’d turned out to be. I felt as though I had made a terrible third impression with Reg, as well, who by now must want nothing to do with me.

It had started out fine. When Reg had shown up, I’d been pleasantly surprised that he’d ditched his work suit in favor of a navy sweater and jeans. He still looked like an MP on his weekend, but nevertheless, it made things slightly less nerve-wracking. I’d had at least one dream where he’d shown up in his rugby kit- one said dream had ended pleasantly enough, but the other had turned into dream-Reg berating me for the previous dream. I don’t know if you’ve ever been told off by Reg in a dream but I wouldn’t recommend it. Nevertheless, I had managed to welcome Reg into my flat without so much as hinting about either dream. And then Tuppy showed up, we started recording, and things went to hell.

Reg’s expressions, usually fairly mild, had been driven further and further to the point where he had actually scowled. The discourse had quickly driven a few kilometers past the “friendly chat” marker and into argument territory, and not even the Aunt kind of argument where you know at the end you’ll still be chummy. Ten minutes in, I had stopped all attempts at jollity and simply started to occasionally chirp in with a suggestion that we move on to a separate question. Twenty minutes in and I had cut the podcast short and asked Tuppy to leave. Reg had asked about the loo and shimmered off, presumably to compose himself.

As I ran through all the terrible things Tuppy had said, I groaned and put my head in my hands. I heard Reg come into the kitchen and prepared myself for a telling off. I thought maybe if I kept my hands covering my eyes, at least I wouldn’t have to look at his disappointed face.

I heard another kitchen chair pull out, and a slight cough as Reg settled himself at the table. I looked up.

“I’m so sorry Reg. I had no idea it would be that bad- I’m just going to delete the bloody thing. There’s nothing usable on it, anyway, with what Tuppy was spewing- I can’t believe it! I mean I really can’t believe it. What a tosser. He’s officially struck from the list of Bertie’s friends.”

“I’m gratified to hear you say that. It was certainly not a pleasant experience.”

“God, I know- that joke he made about hairdressers! And then going off on you about therapy.” I sighed. “I don’t know what Angela is thinking.”

Reg looked thoughtful. “If I might make a suggestion for what to do with the recording…”

“Suggest away, Reg. If you want me to burn it on a drive for you to have the pleasure of literally lighting on fire, I absolutely will. Say the word.”

That, surprisingly, brought a slight smile to his face. “Nothing so dramatic. I merely wonder if the recording is usable as an example of what not to do in various scenarios. If you were able to cut out some of the more...off color comments, and we were able to record some explanation before and after certain parts of the conversation, I think it might even be helpful. Not everyone knows why acting so terribly can be damaging. I have often wished I had an illustration of specifics when I am asked, and Tuppy provided ample examples.”

“I suppose that could work…I wasn’t looking forward to missing a week for my listeners. But Tuppy will be livid! Not that I want to defend his feelings so much, but Angela-”

“If your cousin is half as decent as you say she is, she will want nothing to do with him after she listens to the unedited recording.”

“Oh! Like I should send her what we recorded just now, you mean.”

“It’s possible he usually shows her a very different side of himself, and what we heard just now was the less edited version. If that is the case, hearing the recording should be...illuminating.”

“I certainly hope so! I mean the thing he said about feminists- Angela’s one of the girls who taught me about the whole movement!”

“It’s likely anyone in her situation would want to know.”

“You’re right, of course. Well. Wow. I...don’t know what to say. Thank you for your help, Reg. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re welcome, Bertie. It’s also in my best interest- I wouldn’t have wanted anything just as we recorded to go out as a podcast, but being able to discuss it afterward will be helpful.”

I looked at Reg. “You mean you’d like to get the last word in?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” He said thoughtfully. His lip quirked, and I realized with shock this was the closest he'd been to a good mood since he'd shown up at my flat. 

\----

Transcript:

Bertie: What ho what ho what ho! Welcome to “Ask Wooster”, an advice podcast for confused chaps, befuddled beazels, and everyone in between. I am your host, Bertie Wooster, your expert on all things. Here with me in the studio at the moment is repeat guest Reg Jeeves, therapist extraordinaire.

Reg: Hello.

Bertie: So I have a little bit of a caveat to this episode because I invited over an old acquaintance of mine, Tuppy Glossop, and the recording...got a little ahead of us.

Reg: That is one way of putting it.

Bertie: Yes, well, I suppose the other way of putting it is that Tuppy is an unrepentant ass. Now, I have had my differences with people on this podcast before and I have always faithfully represented our disagreements without issue or edit. I don’t try and make myself sound smarter, or win the argument, or whatnot. Longtime listeners who were here for episode 12 with Florence Craye are EXTREMELY aware of that fact. However, Tuppy said a few things that were completely incorrect, on top of using a few other conversational tactics to shut down arguments that I don’t appreciate. Reg here was exceedingly patient and not at all rewarded for his efforts, which is just not on. So instead of playing the episode as-recorded, we will go through it in a commentary style and...comment on some of the things we took issue with. D’you think I described that correctly, Reg?

Reg: I believe so. I would like to add that I also don’t mind a discussion with someone whose opinion differs from mine. Such conversations can be thoughtful, interesting interactions, and even if your opinions still differ at the end of it all, it can still be fruitful to understand fully where another person is coming from. I am no stranger to debate, and this was not debate. Nor was it a discussion where both sides were coming in with equally open minds. I want to use this experience to model an example of what not to do and what makes it clear that someone is not engaging in an intellectual debate, and how to protect yourself in those situations. There are certain kinds of people who are more likely to get pulled into these conversations, and without proper preparation it can be quite harmful to one’s mental health.

Bertie: Great, thanks Reg. Well, let’s get into it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, I'm not a Tuppy fan.


	9. Engaging Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie and Reg recover from their rough day of recording while watching a nature documentary. Angela reacts to Bertie's information re: Tuppy's misbehavior.

I was surprised at myself, after it was all done. I am not normally one to lose my temper completely, but before Bertie had ended the first recording I had been seriously considering tackling Tuppy to the ground. When Bertie abruptly stopped and demanded Tuppy leave his flat, I felt relieved for a moment but the unease I felt at my own anger remained. After I’d excused myself to the bathroom, I’d spent a few minutes on some breathing exercises and focusing on external stimuli. A soft floral scent permeated the small room, and it must have been Bertie’s shampoo or wash of some kind because I recognized it as a scent I associated with him. Jasmine, perhaps? It was distracting enough that I was able to consider some options to move forward, including the idea of recording commentary over Tuppy’s comments.

Even the second recording had been tense, although Bertie had managed to somehow add some levity without trying to detract from our discussion. At the end of it, I believe both of us were emotionally exhausted. Bertie showed me to his sitting room and excused himself to brew another cup of tea and offered his flat for me to decompress as needed. I sat and wondered why exactly Tuppy had gotten under my skin so quickly. His behavior had been abhorrent, but I wasn’t a stranger to abhorrent behavior. The best conclusion I could come to was that I saw my appearing on Bertie’s podcast as a kind of outreach effort to underrepresented audiences- an attempt to increase education about the importance of taking care of one’s mental health. Tuppy’s condescension and rude behavior had been targeted at a population I already felt protective toward. Oddly enough, it gave me some comfort that Bertie, who struck me as normally genial, had raised his voice at Tuppy more than once.

Although I hadn’t specifically asked for a cup of tea, Bertie came back into the room to place one at my elbow. 

“Here you are. I brought you another scone as well. Can I put something on the telly? I’ve got a few nature documentaries queued up. I just need to call Angela- I feel terrible just attaching the bloody thing to an email and sending it off like it’s nothing. I’ll be right back.” 

The cup of tea went a long way to bringing be back from stewing on the harsh language I’d wanted to use during the recording. Now that there was nothing to be done on that front, I found myself wishing for a distraction. I looked around Bertie’s sitting room curiously. The decor followed a similar theme to the kitchen; that is to say, he was a handful of knicknacks away from looking like a hoarder. Some were clearly either family heirlooms or antiques he had picked up, but I noticed a few more modern pieces that suggested to me the older pieces were inherited. There were splashes of color throughout, but nothing as overpowering as some of his sartorial choices. 

Bertie had put on some music that sounded like jazz on a speaker nearby. Despite the music, I could hear his voice clearly from the kitchen as he ended the call with Angela.

“Angela, damn it, just listen to the recording. If you still love him after all that then I’m not sure what we have to say to each other.” 

I heard a few more noises in the kitchen before saw Bertie again, carrying his own plate with a scone and a cup of tea. He gave an apologetic shrug. “I should have known, she doesn’t want to listen to me.” He sighed and sank down on the couch, placing his feet on the coffee table. 

“I really don’t know what I’ll do if she insists on carrying on with him after all that. She’s my favorite cousin, but there is a line.” 

Remembering the tea in my hands, I took a sip. “It seems unlikely that, faced with the evidence, anyone would prefer to stay in a relationship with the man.” 

“I hope so. Anyway, how are you doing after all that, Reg? I don’t mind saying I feel bloody exhausted. Like I said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you please to give yourself a moment to recover but I hope you don’t mind if I do this. David Attenborough is a balm to my soul in troubled times.”

As promised, Bertie queued up a documentary about oceans. While my initial instinct had been to leave as quickly as I could get my shoes back on, I had to admit I found something about the documentary and the surroundings soothing. I decided to give myself the time it would take me to finish the tea before I had to make my excuses and head back to my flat. 

For a number of minutes we watched seals cavort in the water, and then the subject changed to humpback whales and their varied feeding behaviors.

“That’s quite clever of those whales to trap the fish and everything in a net made of bubbles! Aren’t they basically using tools?” 

I usually prefer to not speak while something is playing on the television, but in this instance I found it hard to resist. I find all manner of marine life fascinating, and have amassed a number of interesting facts about various sea creatures. “Bubbles may not count, but many animals have been shown to effectively use tools, enough that is no longer considered an indicator of what sets humans apart. For example, dolphins have been known to use sponges to help with their search for food in the seabed.”

“What! That’s Amazing! No. Hold on a sec; there’s no way that’s true.” Bertie had the awkwardly defensive skepticism of the naturally gullible.

“You’re welcome to look it up,” I said, trying to hide my amusement.

Bertie pulled out his phone and tapped at it for a few moments. “....Golly. They teach their children as well! Reg, are whales smarter than humans?”

If my sister Violet had been there, she would have accused me of showing off. I don’t think stating facts when asked is showing off, necessarily. I have an excellent memory for the printed word, a trait I share with my mother, and I have read many pieces of scientific literature on cetaceans. Nevertheless, I gave a slight cough of embarrassment before I replied. 

“Research has shown some species use language, and their brains are larger and have more cortical folds. They have fewer neurons, but far more glia than we do, the ramifications of which science is still attempting to understand. It’s possible that humans have yet to come to a place where we can thoroughly research a different kind of intelligence than we have.” 

“That’s amazing! Although- I’ll be honest, I was mostly hoping you’d tell me of course not. I mean, humans train dolphins for shows and things! And some people eat whales! If they’re anywhere near as smart as us, that’s not the decent thing to do.” 

“I believe someone said, ‘Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.’” 

“Hmm. Jonathan Swift?” 

“No- Herman Melville.” 

“Ah. The Moby Dick chap- I remember reading that in school.” Bertie shifted slightly as the screen turned to a conflict between a fish and an octopus. 

“Was he gay, do you think?” Bertie asked. He was focused on the screen, and it took me a moment to regain the thread of our conversation.

“Herman Melville was likely at least bisexual.” It is a gift of modernity to find out which historical figures are likely queer upon new (or uncensored) scholarship. I hadn’t been particularly surprised about this one.

“Hm. It would make sense, after those first few chapters of Moby Dick where Ishmael falls head over heels for that chap- what’s his name?” 

“Queequeg.” 

“Yes! Ishmael goes on and on about how they’re man and wife now after sleeping together. I remember reading it in school and not quite knowing where to put my face. He describes them falling in love, and even going on honeymoon! Romantic stuff if I ever saw it.”

I cast my mind back for the quote I’d been trying to remember since Bertie had brought it up. I looked up to Bertie’s ceiling to remove the distraction of the documentary, now showing a hermit crab’s lifestyle.

“If I recall, Ishmael says ‘...I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it.’” 

“Yes. Well I mean the part where he calls Queequeg a savage is obviously not on, but it’s of the time, I suppose.”

“True. The overall sentiment is quite romantic. I’m sure there’s some queer scholarship somewhere on the relationship,” I mused, and made a mental note to do some research. By this point in time the documentary had changed over to displaying the life cycle of corals, and I realized that it was well past the time I had planned to leave.

“I apologize; I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.” I said as I stood up, taking the mug and scone plate with me to the kitchen sink.

“Not at all.” Bertie said as he followed me. His eyes shifted and he looked slightly more uncomfortable than he had before. It was likely a sign I had overstayed my welcome. “It’s the least I could do after subjecting you to that Tuppy nonsense.”

I had nearly forgotten. “I hope the situation resolves itself soon.” I said as I grabbed my shoes from the entryway. “And if Angela needs someone to speak to- I wouldn’t presume that she’d be more willing to listen to me than you, but if she would like to, you are welcome to give her my contact information.” 

“That’s kind of you, Reg. Hopefully by this time tomorrow she’ll have kicked the blighter where it hurts and turned him out on the street like he deserves. She’s descended from warriors, so nothing would surprise me. But thanks all the same.” Bertie smiled, and I was gratified that he seemed back in good spirits.

I nodded and Bertie gave a friendly wave as I stepped out of his flat and started toward the tube station. I had already decided at this point that, should he ask for me to come back on his show, I would be happy to record with him- but without any other guests. 

\---

As I closed the door after Reg’s departure, I wondered to myself whether or not he’d be up for another podcast. At this point, I realized, I simply had to trust that Reg would either stick around or let me know that I was too odd a duck for him to continue associating with. By now, he’d experienced a range of Wooster acquaintances, plus one particular Wooster spouting romantic drivel at him during a conversation about whale biology. I couldn’t bother with worrying about it anymore; after he’d quoted Melville at me with his face turned upward like some kind of prayer, I’d had to bite my tongue rather vigorously to remind myself the reasons why it would be a terrible idea to fancy him, not least of all the fact that he had already essentially rejected me once. 

I resolved to no longer worry. Should he wish to record again, I’d happily have him on, but either way I’d spend no more time fretting about it. 

I saw Angela’s name on my phone and was reminded that I had more immediate things to fret about. 

I mentally prepared myself to spend some time comforting my cuz, and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Bertie you beast- how could you do that to Tuppy?” Angela growled.

This was not the phrase I had expected to hear from my dear cousin’s mouth. “...What?”

“You and Reg led him into all those conversations and set it up so he’d sound bad! The nerve!”

“Angela, that’s not at all what happened-“

“And what’s more, I refuse to let you send out the awful thing at all. Don’t you dare publish it Bertie! I’m so mad at your behavior, there’s no telling what I’ll do,” she spat. And then she hung up.

Well. That was a turn. The last time Angela had been this furious with me she had nearly burnt my flat down (granted that had been mostly an accident). I wasn’t sure what to do about her inability to see Tuppy for who he truly was, but I knew from experience there wouldn’t be any persuading her in this state. 

I have to admit, my first instinct was to call Reg. He’d given me his cell number recently during all the logistical whatnot of meeting at my place, and at the moment I couldn’t think of a better person to ask for advice than someone I’d only known for a few weeks. I realized that he’d probably be on the tube already and that it was silly to call him five minutes after I’d last seen him. 

Before I could think what else to do, my phone lit up again. This time, it was Aunt Dahlia. 

“Aunt Dah-”

“BERTIE! What on earth did you do, Angela just sent me a photo of a bloody engagement ring! She’s engaged, Bertie! That is the exact opposite of what I wanted you to do! What the hell did you do??” Dahlia roared. 

Bugger it all. Somehow I had both Travers women at my throat and on opposing sides. I couldn’t think of anyone who had been in this situation and survived to tell the tale. 

“I’ll have you know I did my best, Aunt Dahlia, it’s not my fault your daughter is stubborn as an ass! I just sent her a whopper of a recording with Tuppy acting all kinds of vicious on it! How was I supposed to know she would leap into his arms? I don’t even consider him my friend anymore after his behavior today and yet she-”

“Bertie I don’t care what happened on your little podcast, I need you to fix this ASAP. I will not have this man as my son-in-law.” And without giving her favorite nephew any time to explain himself, she ended the call. 

I have to admit I was stung by the “little podcast” comment, but Dahlia has always been at her most cutting when she is out of sorts, and I suppose hearing that your only daughter has decided to throw in her lot with someone like Tuppy is as out-of-sorting as it gets. 

I had a scroll through Instagram to see if Angela had posted anything, and saw that about four hours ago she’d posted the happy announcement with her hand and the egregiously sized ring in question. I thought back to a time a few years ago when I’d jokingly asked Angela what kind of ring she’d want from her eventual spouse, and she’d gone off at me about blood diamonds. I wasn’t sure what made something a blood diamond after all that, but I doubted Tuppy had gone to the trouble to check. 

With Dahlia struck from the list of co-conspirators, I was at a loss. I fired up the old laptop to send off an email. 

To: rjeeves@ganymedegroup.com  
From: bertiewoo@wooster.com  
Subject: Today’s recording

Hi Reg, 

Hope you got home OK. Angela just called me- she’s livid about the whole thing and thinks we set Tuppy up for failure! What BS and rot! On top of all that, I heard from my Aunt Dahlia and she (along with being similarly livid with yours truly) said that Angela’s only gone and gotten herself engaged! It must have happened right after Tuppy left. I don’t know how he had the nerve to show up and act like a tosser and then go propose to my cousin...anyway, I know you offered to speak with Angela but I think it might be a lost cause at this point. The blighter has warned me not to post the newest podcast on pain of death so I can’t even do that. If you have any thoughts on what I could do, by all means, send them my way. I’m out a podcast and a cousin, at this rate. 

B

After I sent off the email, I wandered over to the piano. It was one of several pieces of furniture that I inherited from my parents. I’d been told many times that my mother had loved playing, and I had spent many years learning to tickle the ivories in her memory. One of my favorite things to do at the piano is pick out the chords to a recent piece of music. There are some songs for which this can’t be done, of course, but let it not be said I haven’t tried. I also have a set of favorite piano-forward pieces, which includes most of Queen’s oeuvre (I had a bit of a Freddie Mercury obsession growing up, a little past my time I know, but can you blame me?).

I was halfway through Old Fashioned Lover Boy when I heard my phone receive a text. My stomach lurched as I imagined it was Angela with some new kind of threat. Or worse, Tuppy gloating. I glanced at the screen with a squinted eye, and then with more curiously when I realized it wasn’t Angela’s number.

“Hi Bertie, I received your message. I have an idea on what to do but it will take a few days to set up. In the meantime it might be best to let your cousin and aunt have some space. -Reg”

My first instinct was to be offended. What did this fellow know about giving my cousin and aunt some space, after all! But Reg was trustworthy- and cracking good at understanding people. Of course I should listen to him, even if I wasn’t sure where this would all be going. I shot back a thumbs-up emoji and went back to the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a Jeeves and Wooster fanfiction without an attempt at a Wodehousian plot, am I right? Thanks again to everyone who's been commenting btw, it's extremely lovely and much appreciated! I will probably keep saying this because I'm not sure what else chapter notes are for!


	10. Thinking Outside the Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Reg's advice, Bertie convinces Angela to do a workout class with him to try and get back on her good side.

The next thing I knew, it was a week later, and I was in a boxing gym with Angela, who I hadn’t seen since I’d committed the sin of trash-talking Tuppy. 

I think it’s fair to say that no one has ever looked at this Wooster’s form and thought to themself “Yes! That man has a boxer’s build!” In fact, the closest thing to athleticism I manage is having charitably been noted as having a “runner’s build”, whatever that is. I think it’s a reference to my legs, which always reminded me of a gazelle’s. Not so much graceful as spindly, with something in the way of knobbly knees. 

Nevertheless, at Reg’s suggestion I had invited Angela out to the gym’s promotional “Free Fight” night. I had promised her drinks to celebrate her engagement as well as a full apology after, and after extremely imaginative use of emoji she had grudgingly accepted. I’d no idea what any of this had to do with fixing the situation at hand, but-- in for a penny, in for a pounding at the gloves of a boxer.

“This had better be a good workout, Bertie.” Angela mumbled at me under her breath as we filed into the room containing the boxing ring at its center. 

Here we were, a group of exceedingly fit and toned individuals, and the aforementioned gazelle-legged Wooster. I was nervously fumbling with a pair of boxing gloves when I heard raucous laughter, and our instructor introduced herself. She was tall and had boxer’s build to spare, with more muscles than most anyone I could name. I thought I recognized her, but wasn’t quite sure. Her hair was cut short on the sides and a little longer on the top and if I had to guess at the outset, I’d say she played squarely on the other team (or is it my team?) Either way, my queer-dar isn’t extremely well calibrated for the females of the species but she was pretty clearly pinging nevertheless. 

“Hallo everyone, welcome to A Bout To Remember. I’m Nora, and I’ll be your instructor this evening. This is the introductory class for beginners to boxing- we’ll be working on some weights, boxing exercises, and cardio, but let me know if you have any trouble with anything. I’ll need three at each of the stations, keep your gloves with you, and the last three will be sparring with me! We’ll rotate every five minutes. Get ready to sweat!”

I was still trying to think if I recognized Nora as we began the workout, but things quickly devolved to the point where I was no longer thinking of anything except for staying upright. Some of the portions of the workout were paired and Angela was showing a great deal of pep for anything that involved me holding the bag, or pads, or anything for her. The ungenerous explanation was that she actually wished to punch me, but I tried to imagine that she was simply very invested in working up a sweat. 

Halfway through the class, Nora made her way over to us and complimented Angela on her technique. 

“You’re not holding back! Good girl.” She said, and gave Angela a pat on the back. Angela smiled briefly before returning to attacking the pads on my hands with full force. Nora, meanwhile, snuck ‘round behind me and thumped me on the back as well with some vim, which I hadn’t expected. I jolted forward, right into Angela’s waiting fist. 

While I have often likened Angela’s more vicious moments to physical aggression, I hadn’t been expecting to actually get hit during this excursion. And to Angela’s credit, I don’t think she had been expecting it either. 

“Bertie!”

As I staggered backwards, Nora grumbled something about me having to keep the pads up, while Angela came over to check on her handiwork. 

“That was a complete accident!” Angela gasped. “At least it doesn’t look too bad.”   
“Oh, that’s pretty much nothing.” Nora said breezily, slapping me on the back again. “You seem like a tough guy, Bertie.” 

I opened my mouth to ask Nora which Bertie she was addressing because it couldn’t possibly be me, but Angela interrupted. 

“Bertie we can go and get some ice now if you’d like,” she said guiltily. 

I considered my options and the rather fishy way Nora was looking at me, like I’d be a fool to stop halfway through. “Don’t be silly! I’m sure it’s fine; let’s keep going.” 

Over the course of the class I felt things in the eye hemisphere swell slightly, but I bravely pushed on through the stretches at the end of it all. After all, I felt a distinct warmer air coming from Angela’s direction now that she was the guilty party in need of apologizing, and I thought that was at least a great stopping off point. It concerned me that Reg had supposedly assumed this would happen- but perhaps he had envisioned that we would simply sweat together and call one another chums at the end of it all, and in a few weeks I might be able to offer Angela advice once again. 

Once I had changed, I went to meet Angela in the lobby of the studio. 

“Oh, Bertie.” She clucked with concern, looking at my eye again. “It’s swelling awfully. We really should go and get that ice now.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Angela.” I scoffed, although I was secretly also a little worried. “Woosters have weathered much worse. I promised you a drink, and I don’t go back on my word.”

I felt another robust clap on my back, and saw Nora. She had thrown a leather jacket over her workout gear and looked more butch than I could ever manage. I was agog. 

“I was actually hoping to chat with Angela about our class offerings- you’ve got a good right hook on you and we need more people to join our women-only classes.” Nora grinned at Angela, suddenly looking like a lioness on the prowl.

My cousin also looked agog. I glanced between the two of them, slowly coming to a conclusion that it would be better for all involved, except perhaps Tuppy, if I skipped out tonight. 

“Would it be alright with you if we reschedule? Now that the endor-whatsits are dying down this eye is starting to smart awfully.” I pointed to the affected eye and even squinted it somewhat to make it look even more pitiful. Angela was still looking at Nora. 

“Oh, what? Oh of course Bertie. Feel better.” Angela patted my arm absent-mindedly, clearly no longer concerned for my well being. Nora winked as she waved me off. 

Was it a little strange to watch my cousin, having just biffed me one on the face, walk away with barely a thought with a woman who could absolutely bench press me and likely a few extra hundred pounds thrown in? Yes. Was it worth it to feel a small amount of hope that things might turn out in the long run? Also yes. 

With my bag slung on my shoulder, I headed for home. I wanted to ask Reg what on earth he’d been planning since he’d never told me a word, just sent me the information for the class with the suggestion that I take Angela. But I wondered how much I’d truly want to know. I didn’t think he was capable of planning every exact detail that was to occur, but given how things had turned out tonight, I could imagine it of him. It certainly helped just as much as if he’d been magic.

I pulled up my phone to send him another thumbs up emoji via text. A few steps later, I was surprised to feel my phone vibrate with a response. 

Reg Jeeves: Hello Bertie, Do I take this to mean that the class went well? 

For all the nimble fingers I supposedly have, they’re useless on the phone, so texting is difficult. For whatever reason the bloody thing forgets what I’m typing half the time. 

I pressed the “call” button. 

Reg answered, though there was a note of surprise in his voice. “Bertie?”

“I couldn’t type up all what happened so I thought I would call since I’m walking back to my flat- you don’t mind, do you?” I suddenly realized it was a Sunday night and Reg could have been doing all manner of things that wouldn’t be compatible with chatting on the phone. 

“Not at all, I’m curious to hear how it went.” His voice sounded warmer now that he was no longer surprised, and I felt heartened by it. 

“Well the little dragon was swept off by this Nora creature, which is what I’m assuming you planned somehow.” 

Reg sounded pleased. “Nora is an acquaintance of mine- she played on our sister rugby team for a few years before getting into boxing.” 

“Did you ask her to seduce Angela? Because it looks like that’s what she did.” I supposed there was a possibility the two of them would be thick as thieves talking about boxing workouts, but I had gone out with Angela before and I’d seen that specific calculating look about her eyes before she pulled. 

I heard a cough on the line. “I, er, no. Not in so many words. I thought they might be friendly. My hope was mainly that Angela would find some solace and empowerment in the practice of boxing, and perhaps see in Nora another source of advice.”

I chuckled. “You sure, Reg? You might have missed your calling as a matchmaker.” 

“I think we’ll have to wait and see on that point. But I am glad to hear it went well. Incidentally, Nora is Tuppy’s cousin.” 

Suddenly, the vague resemblance I’d noticed made sense. “What! I mean. What! How on earth did you know?” 

“When you mentioned Tuppy’s last name I thought I had heard it somewhere before- it is somewhat unusual. When I did a search through my social media contacts, I saw Nora’s name come up. From the photos and tags on her account I gathered they are cousins, though not particularly close.”

“Will Nora be trash-talking Tuppy, then? I’m not sure how being a cousin will be of much help, Reg. It didn’t go well for me.” 

“I thought perhaps the familiarity of her features might be eye-catching for Angela. I didn’t mention to Nora anything about Angela’s fiance, but I have on a separate occasion heard Nora speak very poorly of her cousin Hildebrand.”

“Ah yes, Tuppy’s unfortunate full name.” 

“I gather Nora’s is Honoria.”

I whistled. “Another tough one.” 

“Yes, I believe she much prefers Nora. Anyway, I wasn’t quite sure how things might shake out but I thought Nora’s familial distaste for Tuppy might be more compelling to Angela as a peer, should the information come out.” 

“Wow, Reg. You really did think of everything.” 

“I’m not sure I could go that far- we’ll see after tonight. I am hopeful this has shifted things toward a more satisfactory outcome.”

“Hmm. You didn’t know Angela was going to biff me one, though, did you?” I had meant to say it lightly, though I think it rather fell flatter than I’d intended.

“What?” Reg sounded concerned, and at once I felt both happy and guilty.

“Well, it’s all fine now. Nora gave me a rather hearty slap on the back and I lowered my guard while I was holding up pads for Angela. It was my own fault, really. Anyway Angela seems to be over her tiff with me after that which is a relief. I might have a black eye in the morning but I count it more than worth the results so far. Overall, full marks, Reg.” 

“I’m sorry to hear you were hit, Bertie. You don’t think you have a concussion-” 

“Oh no no, not at all. I feel right as rain. All’s well that end’s well, eh?”

“Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.”

“Is that Shakespeare?” I asked, wondering what brought Reg to quote Shakespeare.

“Yes- it’s from the play named All’s Well That Ends Well.”

I laughed. “What! No, it’s just a saying.” I was mostly having him on, since I believed him immediately. Reg didn’t seem the sort to make that up, and after the whale business, I knew his facts were impeccably researched. 

“It is a saying. From Shakespeare.” He sounded mostly amused, but clearly still thought I didn’t believe him.

“If you say so. I’ll have to look it up. Look- I’m nearly at my flat so I have to sign off, but I do want to thank you. Things are looking up, and I have no idea how I would have done it without you.” 

“You’re welcome Bertie. Good night.”

I ended the call with a lightness in my step. Even if I could get to a place where the Travers women weren’t actively cursing my name, I’d consider it a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't stick to my self-imposed 1 chapter a day posting schedule because I ran out of time to edit and life got ahead of me BUT here we are, at least past the halfway mark! I hope to finish up posting this in the next few weeks.


	11. Saving Cousin Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of the anti-Hildebrand campaign makes Reg decide to do something drastic.

Text log  
Wednesday 19:00 GMT  
Reg: Any news from Angela?   
Bertie: nothing yet!!!  
Reg: Only I noticed on her Instagram account she posted a long message about being thoughtful and taking time in one’s choices with an image of the seaside.  
Reg: This suggests a certain amount of introspection.  
Bertie: !!!  
Bertie: Have you been instagram-stalking my cousin?  
Reg: Needs must. 

Text log  
Friday 12:51 GMT  
Bertie: Angela! Drinks tonight? I still owe you after last time!  
Bertie: Or this weekend.  
Angela: Busy this week Bertie! Maybe later?

\---

Three days after the shiner Angela gave me had finally disappeared and a day after she had thoroughly rebuffed my attempt at getting “the dish” re: relationship status from her, I walked up to my flat to find Tuppy waiting outside. I wasn’t pleased to see Tuppy after we’d left everything and even after he had affianced himself to my favorite cousin, but I could see from the expression on his face that he was somehow even less pleased to see me. 

“Bertie!” He stood up and advanced. I paused, looking around on the street. There was a young woman walking her dog, and I slowed so that I would be within eyesight of her. 

“Hello, Tuppy.” I made sure to leave all of the usual good cheer from my voice.

“Bertie what the bloody hell is going on!” Tuppy shouted. The woman and the dog looked over in our direction. I waved at them, and Tuppy looked somewhat chagrined. Upon closer inspection, he didn’t look very good. 

“Tuppy, what are you on about?” I asked, placing my shopping on the front step. I didn’t love the idea of letting him in so I resigned myself for standing outside for the time being. 

“What did you say to Angela?” He asked, his voice rough. Tuppy’s bark has always been worse than his bite, and while he was clearly attempting to sound threatening, I wasn’t too worried. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I said, taking out my keys. Maybe I’d go into my flat and shut the door on him like they do on shows-that would show the blighter.

“She stopped talking to me. I don’t know why.” Tuppy whined. I felt a pang of sadness for him, before I remembered that he deserved every ruddy minute of it. 

“If she did, that’s her business, and it has nothing to do with me.” 

“But you sent her the podcast Bertie- I saw it-” 

“Yes and that didn’t change her mind so something else must have!” I said, raising my voice for the first time during our interaction. Tuppy backed up a few steps, though he was still closer than I would have liked. “Tuppy I must say you’ve become quite unpleasant in your adult years. You were something of a git as a boy but this is too much. I’m glad Angela’s given you the boot, even if I didn’t have anything to do with it.” And with this, I dragged my bags and myself inside, shutting the door on Tuppy behind me, mid-protest.

I could hear him pound the door for a bit before he went away. The confrontation had shaken me, though once I had calmed down I realized what it must mean. We had succeeded! Somehow Angela had been convinced. The victory felt a little raw what with Tuppy’s recent yelling, but I was still well pleased.

Ever good with timing, my phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Bertie, whatever you do don’t speak to that Tuppy monster. Angela’s booted him for good but she said he might come ‘round yours to see what happens,” Aunt Dahlia sounded tired but triumphant.

“It’s a little late, Aunt Dahlia. He was waiting on my doorstep for me when I came home.”

“What! The nerve of that little squirt!” I heard her voice shouting into another room. “ANGELA! TUPPY’S ALREADY BEEN TO SEE BERTIE!”

I didn’t hear a response, but shortly afterward Dahlia was back on the phone. “Angela says not to tell him why she left. Apparently she left the ring and everything at his flat and she’s done a runner. She’s hiding out here for the time being. Tom’s keeping an eye out for the bounder, but I think he’s too much a coward to show up here.” 

“I didn’t tell him anything, Aunt Dahlia. I didn’t even know it myself. Angela’s done with him for good?” 

“Oh, yes!” Dahlia sounded delighted. “She said she really got to thinking over the last week about what it would mean to spend the rest of her life with someone like Tuppy and she knew her heart wasn’t in it. I don’t know what got into her but I’m glad it did. I’m trying not to be too glad on the surface. She’ll want an appropriate mourning period if it’s anything like her other beaus,” Dahlia sighed happily. “Still, he’s done for.” 

“Well that’s a relief.” 

“You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

I took a breath. Usually I enjoy taking all the credit that’s due, but in this case I wasn’t sure how to explain it that didn’t involve Reg to the extent that Dahlia’s curiosity would be piqued. And I had already learned not to pique Dahlia’s curiosity. 

“I’d prefer not to say, Aunt.”

“Well- well done, if so. Anyway I’m off- got to ask Anatole to make a celebratory supper. Lots of love!”

\---

Text log  
Saturday 17:35 GMT

Bertie: It worked! She’s free! Angela is un-fiance’d.  
Reg: That’s wonderful news.   
Bertie: Unforch that I found out from Tuppy stalking outside my flat lol  
Reg: What?  
Bertie: Tuppy just wanted to have a bit of a yell. For some reason he thinks I’m behind it all. I guess it’s not untrue! He’s gone now, anyway.  
Bertie: Everything is fine now!  
Reg: I’m going to give you a call. 

\---

“Hi Reg!” Bertie sounded cheerful, which allayed some of my concerns. 

“Is Angela somewhere safe?” I asked, deciding to go ahead and start with my list of questions. 

“Er.. yes. She’s at her family home with my Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom. It’s sweet of you to be worried, but they have a great security system-” 

“What about you, are you staying with them?” I asked, moving on to the second question.

“No? I’m at my flat.” 

I sighed. “Bertie, it sounds like Tuppy isn’t quite stable at the moment-”

“Well he’s Tuppy, he’s never been the MOST stable of men.” 

“Exactly. He’s angry, and he’s lost something he deems important to him. If he isn’t able to get it back and he blames you, don’t you think there’s a possibility he’ll come back to your flat again? It would be safer if you were at the Travers household.”

There was a pause. “Tuppy’s not going to hurt anyone, Reg,” Bertie said uncertainly.

I sighed. “I am not saying he will- I am saying that many men in his position, with similar temperaments, do. It’s better to be safe than sorry.” 

“Yes but you’re acting as though Tuppy is some kind of axe murderer. He shouted at me a bit outside the flat, yes, but he didn’t move to hurt me.” 

“Would you have felt comfortable inviting him in?”

“Well, no-”

“Then you’re not completely convinced that his behavior would be fine.” I tried to keep my voice serious, but gentle. 

I heard Bertie sigh. “I see what you’re getting at, Reg, but the fact is I have working locks on my doors and I wasn’t so daft as to give Tuppy a key. Plus I just got the ingredients for a bake and I’ve been itching to have a go at it. I’ll be fine. I promise. Also, someone made me take a boxing class recently so I’ve had plenty of practice with the old one-two.”

I could tell that he’d included the last part of his statement to be amusing, but it also served to remind me that I was partly to blame that Bertie was in this situation at all. I still felt uncomfortably guilty about Bertie getting hit as a result of my suggestions. And I didn’t like the idea of Bertie alone in his flat in this situation when Tuppy had recently been broken up with.

“Do you have anyone who could come over?” I asked, finally. “At least for a bit.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” 

“Let me think...Gussie just went back to school. Bingo’s out of town for rugby…. Maddy’s at some yoga retreat… I suppose I could check if Florence is in town.” 

“It would make me feel better.” I said, wondering if that would make a difference. 

“Of course. Let me check and I’ll let you know. I’m sure it will be fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

I was surprised to see Violet leaning against the wall next to me after I ended the call.

“Who was that?” Violet asked. I thought I had left her inside the pottery studio while I stepped out to call Bertie, but she must have decided to take a break from painting. A good number of her pieces were already completed, and we were preparing the final batch to fire. 

“A friend of mine,” I said, placing my phone in my pocket and motioning for us to return to the studio. 

“Like...a boyfriend?” 

I laughed. “You think everyone I speak with on the phone is a boyfriend.”

“That’s not true! I’ve heard you talk with your coworkers before, and that sounds really different,” Vy shrugged. “You had more emotion in your voice, so I was just wondering. I don’t know how many friends you have, since we don’t meet them.” I heard a hint of guilt trip in her voice, a skill she clearly learned from our mother.

“This friend is in a bit of a tough situation, so I’m a little worried about him,” I admitted. Because Bertie’s current situation was due to my actions, I felt a sense of responsibility. On top of that, I had read too many case studies of domestic violence and similar situations to feel wholly comfortable hoping for the best in a situation like this. 

“Do you need to go help him?” Vy asked. 

“Not at the moment, no. I think he’ll be fine.” My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to check my texts. 

‘Bertie: Florence is a no go, but don’t worry about it! I’ll be fine! Woosters are made of strong stuff!’ 

I let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m about done here anyway.” Vy said, watching me over the top of the vase she was painting. She had finished quite a large collection of pieces in a relatively short amount of time. Given my schedule, I hadn’t been able to help as much as I’d hoped, but I was still both proud of her and of my contribution. 

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” I said stubbornly as my fingers typed out ‘I will arrive at your flat in ~1hr. Will text when outside.’ It could be said another one of my personal failings is an inability to let things go. 

“I might need to leave in a half hour,” I amended after I saw Bertie’s response, which was confused but far from an absolute refusal. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and turned my attention back to my sister and her art. 

“I’m going to be done in about twenty, Reg,” Vy said, kicking at my shoe. “After this piece is done I’ll load them in the kiln waiting room. Thanks for all your help with this.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” I said, and I truly meant it. 

“You’ll come to the show too, right? It’s going to be like a gala...I think I get a few extra tickets. Mum and Dad will be out of town, which is just as well because I’m not sure I want them to see the art.” She raised the vase she was working on- this one featured a few mutilated pigeons, among other things. “I’m going to invite Arthur and Rhi too but I’m not sure they can make it.” 

“I’ll put it in my calendar today,” I said, giving Vy a quick hug. I was sure it hurt her more than she showed that the whole family might not be there. 

“Thanks Reg. If I have extra, do you want me to save another one for your boyfriend?” Vy’s smile had turned from sincere to wicked. I fought the puerile urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Violet.” The sad look she cast at me caused a twinge of guilt. “If circumstances change at any point I will let you know.” 

“Promise?” 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along this process I decided on a rough wordcount per chapter and it has kind of worked? But it means that my chapters are tiny, so there's that.


	12. Bakewell Tarts and Aunties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reg invites himself over for a definitely not-date overnight stay with someone he definitely has a strictly professional relationship with.

After Violet and I said our goodbyes, I found my way to Bertie’s flat faster than I expected. Unused to showing up at anyone’s flat empty-handed, I ended up at the closest corner Sainsbury’s with a minor crisis.

It’s not often that one invites oneself over to an acquaintance’s flat, and while at this point I felt that I knew Bertie well enough to guess that he’d be fine with the situation, I had just acted in a way that went against every polite instinct.

I decided the least I could do was bring a few ready meals and a bottle of wine. I almost thought to bring dessert as well, until I remembered Bertie had mentioned he was planning to bake. In the back of my mind I could hear Vy’s voice slyly asking if this made it a date, but I felt confident that the overall parameters would not be changed. I was still going over to Bertie’s flat to be an intimidating presence or an extra witness should Tuppy show up. It was in my professional interests as a therapist who had dealt with the fallout from the worst versions of such scenarios, and my duty as a friend who had arguably pushed Bertie into the situation to begin with. None of those situations were romantic. I wasn’t particularly interested in mulling over why my sister’s teasing was suddenly sticking more than usual.

I tried not to act surprised when, upon seeing Bertie answering the door, I noticed he was half-covered in flour or perhaps icing sugar. I don’t often bake but I don’t like to make much of a mess when I do, and I bit back commentary as he welcomed me in, reminding myself I was already imposing.

“Now don’t think I’m kicking you out but you really didn’t have to come over. I’ve been up against Tuppy in the past and he’s not really much of a threat.”

This line of conversation was quickly making me uncomfortable. “I’d rather not discuss this further, if it’s all the same to you.” I searched my mind for a socially acceptable way to insist. “Perhaps we can consider it a favor you’re doing for my peace of mind.”

Bertie looked confused, but nodded. “I suppose that’s fine with me. Sorry to bring it up.” He ushered me into the kitchen. “Thanks for the grub, by the way. I don’t tend to think about how I’ll be hungry for supper by the time the tart’s done cooling. This timing should be about perfect.”

“I thought if I was inviting myself over I might at least make up for it in some way,” I said and tried a smile.

Bertie seemed to relax slightly. “Well I’d say it wasn’t necessary but as I just said I hadn’t even given a thought to dinner yet, so thank you. Say--I know Bingo’s team is still playing--are yours as well? How are they doing?”

We carried on a comfortable conversation about rugby over the course of making and eating dinner, much to my relief. Bertie, while not a rugby player himself, had clearly spent a fair amount of time around the sport.

“And yet you’ve never played rugby yourself?” I asked, watching Bertie finish up the decorations on what appeared to be a tart.

“No, god no. No, I don’t have it in me to be buffeted about, I’m afraid. Love to watch it; no interest in it. When we’d play in school I was rubbish anyway. Probably more suited to football overall, but I’m not the athletic type.” He finished cutting two slices and placed one before me. “What about you, Reg? Always been a rugger?”

I laughed. “No, not at all. I was an awkward, uncoordinated child, so as defense mechanism I considered myself above physical pursuits. It was actually only- only in the last few years. I was looking for a way to connect more with London’s queer community, aside from the obvious, and the team came up during one of my searches. They do a surprising amount of advocacy work on the side, and I was curious to encounter rugby without the toxicity I’d long associated with it. I decided to try out one of their workshops, and found it quite fun. The team has provided a community when I was sorely lacking one, and the sport provides a productive way for me to use my energy.”

“Ah! Is that why you’re so bloody calm all the time?”

“I like to think that comes somewhat naturally, but the rugby does help.” I admitted, and took a bite of the dessert. It was quite nicely made and tasted of tart fresh raspberries, but what unsettled me was how it brought forth a sharp, unexpected memory of my grandmother. My mother’s parents had lived with us for most of my childhood, and while neither of them were particularly well versed in English cuisine, my grandmother had once made a Bakewell tart for my father’s birthday. I realized with a start I must not have eaten it since then- I don’t have a strong sweet tooth, and on top of that our family prefers to cook Chinese food for gatherings. It was strange to have such a strong memory of 外婆 in Bertie’s flat, of all places. She and my grandfather had passed on nearly twenty years ago now, but I still missed them dearly. For a moment, I was almost breathless with their absence.

“Gosh, is it that bad?” Bertie asked. I realized with a start that I had spent more than a moment in thought. Bertie was looking at me with an expression of worry on his face.

“Not at all.” I said, glancing down at the slice on my plate. “It’s lovely.” I realized I wanted to tell him the reasons behind my pause, how much I missed my grandparents. Aside from my strong boundaries, there is another reason I am hesitant to talk about my personal life in new company. There’s always a risk in these situations. I’ve found that conversations quickly get derailed once I mention I have Chinese family. Once a narrative pulls away from the standard norm it becomes a source of curiosity- and it’s never a particularly enjoyable feeling to be a curiosity to those around you.

I looked up from the dessert, and noticed Bertie still watching me quietly. He looked thoughtful, and no longer like I was about to insult his baking, thankfully.

“My mum baked, I’m told.” Bertie said at last, in a voice that was quieter than before. “I don’t have very many memories of her or dad but I do remember helping her crack eggs when she’d make cookies. She always let me, even though I’d get yolks and shells all over my hands. I assumed it was just one of those mum things. No one told me how much she loved baking until Aunt Dahlia mentioned it one Christmas, off-handedly. I’d always enjoyed making the odd batch of cookies but that really put two and two together for me. Maybe they had been keeping quiet about it to try and keep me from being too effeminate, which, lost cause there,” he chuckled. “Anyway, I started really baking in earnest after uni. I think it’s in part to remember my mum, but also now it’s meditative in a sense. Not quite like rugby, of course- but it’s not a half bad outlet.”

“From what I can tell, you’re quite good.” I said with a slight smile. I took a deep breath. “I hadn’t realized when you first mentioned it, but I realized that my grandmother must have made this once. It...brought me back. I don’t think I’ve had it since then. My...family doesn’t eat English desserts very often.”

Bertie nodded. If he was curious he certainly didn’t seem like it. “Well I’m sorry that it made you think of sad things, but I’ll also take it as a compliment.”

I was considering saying something else- an explanation ,or a compliment, or something- when the buzzer to the flat rang.

Bertie’s shoulders immediately tensed, and I stood up.

“Would it be alright if I answered the door?” I asked, noticing Bertie’s sudden nervousness. I felt immediately relieved at my choice to impose myself- even if the person at the door wasn’t Tuppy, I imagined Bertie felt slightly more comfortable having someone else around.

“It wouldn’t be too much trouble?” Bertie asked, biting his lip. “Only if it is Tuppy and you’re willing to- I don’t know, flex a bicep at him- I think you’ll do a far better job then I could do.”

“Of course.” I said, and went over to the door. Bertie’s flat didn’t have any peephole of any kind which I considered to be security oversight on the part of whoever built the place.

I opened the door and found a small, older Asian woman standing outside, looking suspiciously up at me through her spectacles.

“Is Bertie in?” She asked.

While I was at a momentary loss for words, Bertie appeared behind me. “Oh hello Mrs. Jiang! Reg, this is Mrs. Jiang- she lives a few buildings down and I look after her cat from time to time.”

“Bertie, I heard there was a man who yelled at you! This isn’t him is it?” She looked me up and down with the distaste I imagine she reserved for only the most offensive foods.

“No, no, Mrs. Jiang. Reg is the fellow who offered to come over and protect me from the blighter. His name’s Tuppy, by the way. The one who did yell at me.”

“Oh, that’s all right then.” And like a switch had been flicked, she smiled up at me and placed a hand on my arm. “Do see you look after Bertie now, he’s my favorite boy on the block. He waters my plants when I go away too- most of the others forget.”

“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Jiang.” I said seriously. I had long ago learned that one did not argue with aunties.

“That’s good. If you stick around, you can come for tea next time I invite Bertie.” She nodded. “Bertie, try not to get into trouble with that Toppy again OK? Don’t give Mrs. Jiang reasons to worry about you.”

Bertie smiled and gave her a hug. “Of course, Mrs. Jiang. Toppy-I mean Tuppy- is not the kind of company I want to keep any longer. Would you like to come in for any tea? I just finished a bakewell if you’d like a slice.”

Mrs. Jiang looked conflicted. “Another time maybe. Simon and I are watching Monarch of the Glen.” Bertie laughed and held up a finger as he walked back into the flat. “Let me pack you a slice to take with you then.”

In the quiet after Bertie’s momentary departure, I felt Mrs. Jiang studying me.

I was in the middle of trying not to notice her scrutiny when she poked me in the chest. “Eh!” She said, and I nearly jumped.

“Are you Chinese?” She asked, in Mandarin. While my Mandarin is by no means perfect, I am conversational, especially in the instance of understanding when someone asks about my own ethnicity.

“My mother is Chinese, Mrs. Jiang” I responded in English, and saw her smile widen.

“Aiya! You look so English. Must be like your dad. You speak Chinese?”

“A little.” I responded, this time in Mandarin.

I noticed Bertie had come back to the door with a plate, and moved aside to let him pass.

“Here you are Mrs. Jiang.”

“Ah, Bertie, now I know you have Chinese friends, you can call me Jiang Ayi. Need to practice.”

“Oh, well, all right. Jiang Ayi.” He made a solid attempt at copying the tones, which are always the most difficult part for non-native speakers to master.

“Good. Good boy.” She patted his arm as she took the plate. “Ok I will tell Simon hello for you. Nice to meet you, Reg.”

We watched her make her way out of the apartment.

When she was out of hearing, Bertie leaned over. “What does Ayi mean?” He asked, still quiet, as though worried Jiang Ayi might overhear him.

“I suppose the most direct translation is ‘auntie’.”

Bertie hummed. “I wouldn’t mind having Jiang Ayi as an aunt, actually. Rather her than Aunt Agatha.”

“It’s more a way of address than anything else.”

“Well that’s all right, she doesn’t have to know.” Bertie gave another wave to Mrs. Jiang’s retreating form before turning back to the flat.

\---

I have to admit I was feeling quite chuffed about the whole evening, it was almost worth the brokenhearted Tuppy yelling at me. First, Reg invited himself over- and while I knew it was soundly in his professional interest to do so it meant that I was able to enjoy his company while finishing up a night of baking. On top of that, Mrs. Jiang asked me to call her Jiang Ayi! I’ve always appreciated her friendship of course but I had noticed that when I would get invited over to her flat (usually just before she left for a vacation, so I could re-introduce myself to Simon the cat), she would always insist on making English food, which I knew for a fact she didn’t eat. Not that I mind what someone serves up in front of me, of course, but I hated the thought of her changing what she cooked because she was worried about my not liking anything else. One doesn’t like to feel uncultured.

Reg and I had settled on the couch after dinner. I’d put on some show or another, but as I looked at the clock I realized I had assumed that at some point Reg would leave, and he was making no motions to do so. I tend to stay up all night if I don’t have something to do the next day, but Reg had mentioned once that he kept to a strict and fairly early bedtime, and we were fast approaching 10.

“Reg,” I chirped, and he blinked a few times before looking over at me. The relative openness of his expression was a significant change from the first time I’d met him, and I tried to tamp down any of the warm and fuzzies about the fact that he didn’t feel the need to wear the stuffed-frog mask of his around me anymore.

“You aren’t...planning on staying the night, are you?” His brows immediately furrowed, and I realized I’d said the wrong thing.

“I mean you’re welcome to of course, I just thought- well you did the whole knight in shining armor thing at the door and that was just,” and here I tried to remember the correct way to pronounce it- “Jiang Ayi, and Tuppy hasn’t shown up so I think it’s safe to say he probably won’t, and I know it’s getting close to your regular bedtime, but of course if you were planning on it… I won’t… stop you?” I finished hesitantly, feeling my cheeks burn. Just Bertram Wooster, putting his foot in it again.

Reg looked like he was thinking through his options. Perhaps he was tired- he was usually unreadable save the occasional twitch of the brow, but I could clearly see his expression turn almost comically thoughtful.

“If it’s alright with you, I would prefer to stay.” He said finally, with some care. “I feel...at least somewhat responsible for your current situation.”

I scoffed. “It’s hardly your fault I went and tried to get my cousin to see reason. I like to think she would have left Tuppy no matter what. If anything, I pulled you into this nonsense.”

Reg still managed to look somewhat uncomfortable and guilty, so I decided to breeze onward with a different subject of conversation. “Anyway, doesn’t matter- I’ve had a wonderful time. I can set you up on my bed as the guest,” I started before Reg interrupted me.

“Oh, no, I imposed- I’m happy to stay on the sofa.”

I looked pointedly at Reg’s long legs and my short sofa. Not that I’m particularly short, but he had a few inches on me at least. “I’m not sure you’ll fit.”

Reg smiled, and if it wasn’t stirring those damned fuzzies up again. “I’ll find a way to make it work, Bertie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right...well. If you say so, I suppose.” I sighed. We both seemed like men of strong will and I didn’t want to push Reg too far over something so silly as this. “I can set up a sheet and a pillow on it at least. Do you need anything else?” I asked. Reg looked half asleep already.

“I, er. I have most of the things I need in my rugby bag. I was wondering if I could trouble you for a shirt, however.”

“Oh, of course!” I said, and toddled off to look for something that would fit. Reg was really quite a large fellow. Luckily I had a few shirts I’d been given that were too large and hadn’t managed to give away yet. I picked the one least likely to offend his sensibilities and offered it to him.

Reg shimmered away while I started putting sheets on the sofa, still mulling over how he was going to bloody well fit. I didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of him cramped at an awkward angle all night, but I knew better than to suggest anything else.

I was bringing over a few extra blankets when Reg stepped out of the bathroom. He had a little bit of the stuffed frog affect back, and I was confused for a moment until I saw the shirt. While it would have been large on me, it was extremely tight on him, and a little short as well. It was already riding up to show a small sliver of skin above his pajama bottoms, which really was too unfortunate.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Looks good on you,” I said, and I thought I noticed a hint of a blush on his cheeks as he rolled his eyes.

“Thank you for lending it to me.” He said, voice gravely in a way that made it sound not at all thankful.

It became immediately clear to me that I needed to make my exit or risk saying something highly inappropriate to this man whose professional obligation was the only thing keeping him here. “Well, I’ll let you get to bed. Feel free to knock if you need anything!”

I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I had to take a moment to collect myself before I was able to continue on with my plans for the evening, which mainly involved surfing the internet and editing the newest podcast, featuring Maddy and her recommendations of home remedies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One time in college, my friend told me that her brother buys size small shirts so his muscles look bigger and it just tickled me. That's all I really have to say for myself.


	13. Condescending Cousins and Haughty Aunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie checks in with Angela, gives Reg some bad news, and receives a call from his least favorite Aunt.

The next morning, I woke up late enough that I found I had entirely missed Reg. He’d left a note written in neat script, on top of the shirt he’d borrowed (also folded neatly, of course). The note read “Bertie- Thank you for letting me impose to ease my peace of mind. I have to head out early in order to run some errands. Please keep me apprised on how things go with Angela. -Reg.”

I mused over this while I made my morning tea. I continued to mull it over as I got dressed for the day, and finished my mulling when I met Angela at a cafe later that week.

“It’s been awful, Bertie.” Angela sighed. She didn’t look awful, despite that. She was dressed in a bright dress and her makeup was perfectly done.

“Really old bean? You miss Tuppy that much?” I asked, trying to pretend my expression of distaste was because of the coffee I’d purchased.

Angela rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot. I don’t miss Tuppy at all. But I had to block his number, and he’s been round the house twice.”

“And my flat once.” I said, remembering the night that followed. “Not that it’s as disturbing or anything.”

“Oh, right.” Angela said. “Anyway, he’s been a complete dickhead about this, I don’t mind saying so. It really makes the decision I made that much clearer. But it’s still frustrating.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually. He’s not the type to stew,” I said in a reassuring voice.

“I certainly hope not. How did you get him away from your place, anyway?”

“Oh, I just...didn’t let him in. He went away eventually.”

“And you weren’t scared he’d come back?”

“Well funnily enough not really, but I ended up telling Reg about it and he offered to come over.”

Angela’s face changed immediately from put-upon ex to gossip-hungry hound.

“He what?”

I realized too late I shouldn’t have said something. I’d thought that dealing with Tuppy would have taken up too much of her attention, but I was clearly wrong about that.

“He, er. He came over.”

She raised an eyebrow. “To… protect you?”

“I suppose so?” I could feel the beginning of a blush on my cheeks. “I mean, I think he has to deal with, you know- domestic violence and such training with his work, and he’s just very used to seeing worst case scenarios?”

“You let him come to your flat to protect you?”

“Well, yes and no, I let him come to my flat but he was so insistent I felt it would be rude to say no.”

“That is...that sounds like a date, Bertie.”

“It wasn’t a date.” I said with some confidence, clear on the fact that if it had been a date I obviously would have known about it. I added as much to Angela.

She seemed unconvinced. “It seems like he’s a little controlling, Bertie. You’d probably do best to steer clear of him anyway.”

I sputtered. “Well- not that I’m trying to date him but- that’s a lot for you to say, Angela. You were pushing me on him just a few months ago!”

She rolled her eyes. “Things change, Bertie. He’s handsome enough but he might be too much for you to handle-”

“Too much for me to handle! Now Angela I’m not sure what you mean by that but it’s hardly complimentary to me or Reg.” Let alone the fact that we weren’t dating.

“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t want someone who would have come to my home in that situation. I’d much rather have someone respect that I can take care of myself.”

In our long cousinhood, Angela has often given me advice, most of it good. In this particular instance I considered pointing out that she had been with her family (including one Uncle Tom, who has worked hard on his patented intimidating stare), and I had been with no one. I considered it, but then I thought better of it.

“If you say so Angela.” I said, trying to sound somewhat convinced. After all, what did it matter if she steered me away from Reg or not? It wasn’t like we were anything other than colleagues at best.

“I do say so.” Angela said with an air of finality. I briefly imagined her a judge with the wig, sending down a sentence. She took a sip of her drink and shifted in her seat, smiling slightly. “Anyway, Bertie, I should tell you- I’m not that impressed with men as a species anymore.”

“I didn’t think you were ever that impressed with men, to be honest.”

“Well…I’m even less impressed with men now.”

Angela, it seemed to me, was trying to make a point, but I was damned if I could get her meaning.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” I asked.

She sighed. “You remember Nora, from the boxing gym?”

“With the…” I gestured to my shoulders and biceps.

“Yes,” Angela said with a smirk. “She…showed me how unnecessary men are.”

I took a sip of my coffee as I pondered this statement, then promptly spat it out again as I came to a conclusion.

“Angela!”

“Yes?” Angela has always enjoyed getting the better of me in eliciting reactions like this. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“Well!” I said, the various responses I had to the situation warring with each other to get out. “Congratulations?” I started with. “Welcome to the club!” I added.

“Thank you, Bertie.” Angela smiled. “We...aren’t dating or anything, but I hadn’t realized I could have quite so strong an attraction to women as I’d had to men…” She started to stare off in the middle distance.

I had a sudden urge to text Reg to tell him that he actually had the makings of a good matchmaker, but decided I should probably wait until after I left Angela’s company.

“That’s great, Angela! You sure you and Nora aren’t dating? You seem a little…” I wanted to say lovestruck, but I was a little worried Angela would swat at me.

Angela rolled her eyes. “I’m just grateful, Bertie. Anyway Nora doesn’t do monogamy. But it’s been a great time nevertheless.”

I tried not to protest. I was well aware Angela had heard more than enough about my ill-fated hookups over the years. “Grand. That’s grand,” I said. A thought occurred to me.

“Does this mean I can finally post the Tuppy episode of my podcast? I held it back and put in a filler but some of my listeners are starting to complain.”

“Absolutely not, Bertie.”

“But why-”

“I know Tuppy’s a clot now, but I don’t want the whole world to know I dated a clot! Can’t you just, I don’t know, interview mum or something?”

“Aunt Dahlia is very far from interested in being a guest. I believe her exact wording was, ‘I’d rather go boil my own feet’.”

“What about Florence?”

“Florence has already been on, and on top of that, she spent the entire episode that we did record making fun of me.”

Angela shrugged. “Makes for good entertainment.”

“I’d...rather not. What about you- will you come on?”

“Oh, no, Bertie. I’m far too emotionally unstable at the moment.”

I huffed. “Well you’ve put me in rather a corner, Angela.”

Angela huffed back at me. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Bertie.” I supposed I shouldn’t push too hard for her sympathy. After all, I wasn’t the one who had just jumped from my fiancé’s boat and swum for more distant shores.

“I’ve got to get on anyway- I’m going to a movie with Maddy,” Angela said, standing up.

I would never admit it out loud, but I was a little relieved my time with Angela was over. I had to record a podcast (no thanks to her) and tell Reg the bad news that the episode we had worked so hard (twice over) to record was nixed yet again. Not to mention I was ruffled by the rude comments Angela had made about Reg, of all people.

“Oh, well. Tell Maddy I say hello, and all that.” I said, rising as Angela gathered her things. I gave her a quick hug goodbye.

“Best of luck with the whole switching of teams. I imagine you’ll take to it like a duck to water.”

She scoffed at me but it was with a smile, so I called it a win.

I spent a few moments alone at the cafe pondering my next steps. As I saw it, I needed to do two things- tell Reg the bad news, and recruit someone else to be on my podcast. A small, selfish voice suggested I could nab two birds with one stone and ask Reg to be on again, but it felt strange to request his presence after the last episode had been such an un-postable shambles. I supposed if it came out or if he offered, that would be fine. I’d probably need to call him.

Then I remembered that his office was only a few blocks from the cafe, and decided to stop in.

The waiting room had a few other folks inside, and I recognized Sarah at the reception desk from our rather awkward first meeting.

She looked up at me with some curiosity. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, er-” And here the folly of my plan was starting to catch up with me- “I was wondering if Reg was free and if I could speak to him. I was in the area and I had a question… so I thought I’d stop by..” My voice wavered slightly as I realized how ridiculous it was to show up at Reg’s place of work and ask to see him. The man was nothing if not professional- he’d probably be offended I’d even tried it.

Sarah’s face seemed to say the same. “I...sorry, it’s just that this is highly irregular.” She stopped for a moment, clicking at her computer. “He’s in with someone at the moment but they should be done in about ten minutes.” A few more clicks. “I can check then if he’s free. No promises.” She said, her voice still skeptical.

“That’s fine. I don’t mind waiting- and if he’s not free, I’ll give him a call later.”

She nodded and typed something into the computer before standing up. “Can I make you a cup of tea?” She asked. I say asked, but it was more of a command because before I knew it she was ushering me into a small staff kitchenette.

“I want to keep your expectations low.” She said, sitting across the table from me, all pretense of tea forgotten.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “I’m sorry, my expectations?”

“I just mean- Reg is pretty private. He keeps his professional life very separate. You already know some of it, what with the- suit stuff- and his general demeanor,” Sarah said.

“Yes. Of course.” I saw now this had been a worse idea than I’d initially thought. “If you think I should leave now-”

“No, it’s alright, I’ll check in with him. I just didn’t want to tell you out in the waiting room I thought your odds of being turned away were pretty high, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I just meant to talk to him about the most recent recording.”

Sarah looked surprised. “Oh, is that all?”

I assumed she was implying I could have done things over email. “Unfortunately our most recent recording is likely never to be published. I was hoping to talk it over with him. We recorded it twice, I don’t know if he mentioned, but it was a stressful time all around and on top of it now my cousin is refusing to let me post it.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, in a very similar way to Reg. I wondered which person had picked it up from the other. “He didn’t say much. Just that it probably wouldn’t get posted for a while, if ever. I got the sense that since it was related to your family he didn’t want to give too many details.” She looked wistful.

“Well, I don’t mind giving you the details as long as you don’t let it get back to my family,” I said, and Sarah smiled. I told her about the whole thing. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t usually get much gossip or not but she seemed delighted to hear it all. I tried to leave Reg out of it, though, just in case he’d kept mum about it because of anything on his end.

“That’s…you certainly have some interesting family members,” Sarah managed.

“Oh yes, true, half of us are batty and the other half are completely mad.”

“Guess that’s true about- oh, bloody hell, I’ve got to get back to the desk,” Sarah said, having glanced at the clock.

I followed her back to the waiting room. It was now empty, but that seemed normal. Sarah started typing away at the computer.

“I’ll let you know if Reg has a moment in.. just a moment,” She said, and stood up, walking over to the area where Reg’s office was. I heard a gentle knock, and a few words exchanged. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, you understand, though I was relieved that there wasn’t any angry shouts after the moment I imagined Sarah let him know I had shown up unexpectedly. Still, I got ready to be told to mind my own business elsewhere.

Instead, I heard a few footsteps before Reg materialized in the waiting room. It was a surprise to me how strange it was to see him in a suit. I realized with a certain amount of shock and amusement I had to immediately tamp down that the last time I’d seen him he’d been wearing one of my shirts as an accidental crop top. Reg, thankfully, didn’t look annoyed, just confused and perhaps a little amused. “Bertie?”

“Reg! I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by- if you have time- I just wanted to explain… I met with Angela and she’s still against posting the podcast and I just wanted to have a quick chat about it. If you have time.” I said, trying for my most charming smile. It must have worked at least a little because the corner of Reg’s mouth quirked up slightly.

“I don’t have much time… perhaps ten minutes?”

Sarah had scooted back out behind Reg into the waiting room once again and was looking at me with some surprise. She must have put in a good word for me nevertheless, so I grinned at her in thanks as I followed Reg into his office.

I closed the door behind me gently, and watched Reg hesitate a moment before seating himself in his desk chair. His movements were usually so fluid that this minor hitch made it even clearer how gracefully he usually moved. It wasn’t until he looked up at me with a quizzical expression that I realized I had gotten distracted.

“Right.” I flung myself into his comfortable couch. “It’s like this- you were right, Angela has been turned to the dark side by Nora after dumping Tuppy, you are a genius, but the only downside is the dratted episode we worked so hard to record is nixed now because Angela doesn’t want it to come out that her recent ex-fiance was a cad and a bounder.”

Reg looked thoughtful. ‘It makes sense. I doubt we’d have Tuppy’s consent at this point to post the recording, either.” I shrugged at that; I wasn’t particularly bothered about Tuppy’s opinion of the whole thing.

“I suppose,” I agreed. “And I think it does make things easier for Angela. If Tuppy listened to it and took it as an attack on him, he might blame Angela for it.”

“But either way,” I continued, “I wanted to apologize for dragging you into all this mess. You only signed up to record a second episode and not only do you get that, but you did twice the work. Not to mention staying over to keep me safe from raging Tuppies.”

Reg finally smiled a true smile at that, which made me feel warm and accomplished.

“And, if you want to be done with the whole business, I completely understand, but…” here I trailed off. I had assumed at this point I’d have some kind of indication from Reg one way or the other about the whole thing but I hadn’t been able to read his expression at all.

“But I don’t have someone lined up for this week what with...everything, and I thought, if you wanted to give it another go, we could try the same questions a third time- or do completely new questions- if you wanted. 100% up to you,” I said, and I thought I saw Reg’s eyebrows move up a millimeter but I wasn’t sure what it meant. So instead I waited, fidgeting with my coat. I felt an anxiety which didn’t quite match the stakes of the question I’d asked, and while I didn’t want to examine it too closely, probably had something to do with the fact that if Reg wanted to stop recording with me then we wouldn’t have any more reasons to see each other.

Reg coughed, like he was about to speak, so I tried my best to stop fidgeting and look at him directly. I still couldn’t tell from his expression what he was going to say.

“I’m sorry, Bertie, I-”

“Oh no it’s absolutely fine, you don’t have to be sorry at all- look it was just a lark anyway-”

“No, I’m sorry I don’t have time at the moment. I would be happy to continue aside from that issue. My schedule is uncharacteristically packed.” Reg’s smile was warm, and again I felt that dreaded flood of warmth.

Reg was looking at his schedule book (of course he kept an old fashioned paper one, he seemed the type). “After the next two weeks, I’ll be free,” he said, tapping what was presumably the post-fortnight area of his schedule with a pen. He looked back up. “That is- if you still want me.”

What it looked like Bertram Wooster was doing at that particular moment was opening and closing his mouth like a fish. What I was actually doing was trying to come up with a response- any response- that wasn’t “Of course I want you.”

“Oh!” I managed, after my suave moment of fish pantomime. “Great! Yes, it doesn’t have to be this week. It would be great to have you back on regardless. I can convince someone else to do it in the meantime.” I was fairly certain a blush was making its way up my cheeks. “That’s great. Wonderful.”

Reg nodded, looking pleased. “Was there anything else you needed to discuss?” I glanced at the clock and noticed it had been over ten minutes. “No, not at all, I’ll get out of your hair. Just- thank you for everything you’ve done,” I blurted, since I was already blushing. “It was...extremely gallant of you to come over and keep me company after Tuppy threw his fit. You’re very kind.”

That’s it Wooster, get the compliments in and get yourself out of the way before you say something too potty, I thought. “See you later!” I chirped, letting myself out.

Sarah didn’t seem too busy so I stopped to thank her for her help on my way out. She smiled, and if I had to guess I’d say it was a slightly more friendly smile than the last one.

As I headed to the tube, my phone buzzed. I looked at the caller and winced.

“Hello, Aunt Agatha!”

“Bertie, it’s been too long since we last spoke. What’s this I hear about you doing that podcasting now?”

“Aunt Agatha, I’ve been doing that for over a year now.”

She huffed. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.” There was absolutely no way that was true, but I didn’t want to argue with Aunt Agatha. The whole trick to escaping a conversation with Aunt Agatha unscathed was to avoid being drawn into any kind of argument. Sometimes it meant agreeing that the sky was green and grass was blue, but in this particular case I’d learned not to get too principled about the truth.

“That’s unfortunate, I can send you some of the files if you’d like-”

“No, no. I don’t have time to listen to that kind of rubbish.” I rolled my eyes and reminded myself that this was just Aunt Agatha speak for ‘no thank you’.

“Is that what you were calling about, Aunt Agatha, or-”

“Have you thought about going back to graduate school Bertie?” She really was ticking off the terrible conversation boxes. I tried not to grit my teeth.

“Not at the moment Aunt Agatha… school doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

“Hmph. Well I’m calling because one of the charities I’m involved with is doing their major fundraiser next weekend and I need you to go. I had to schedule a trip to visit your cousin Thomas and it cannot be moved- nor can the fundraiser unfortunately, so you’ll have to attend in my stead.”

“Aunt Agatha, I-”

“Bertie! I will not accept excuses. Do something selfless for a change. There will be a silent auction and I need you to talk up the art pieces we’re selling. It’s for university hopefuls and we’ll match the price their art sells for. I need to prove to that dratted Mrs. Bucket my foundation has deeper pockets than hers. Do you remember what you did for Claude and Eustace’s school fair?”

“Well yes, but that was for a grade school-”

“Just do the same thing, Bertie. You’ll be fine. You were always good at chattering away.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying anything biting in response. It wouldn’t be my favorite weekend activity, but I didn’t actually have anything else in the way. And it was a rare instance where I could get into Agatha’s good books without actually having to interact with her more than necessary or do anything too unpleasant. “Will you send me the details?”

“Good boy. See you when I get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting close to the HOME STRETCH, my friends. Thank you for going on this journey with me!


	14. Setting up a Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reg attends a gala to support Violet, his sister. Bertie's there because Aunt Agatha commands it.

“Hello, Vy. Yes, I’ve just arrived- what do you mean you’re still on your way?” I tried not to sound too alarmed.

“Reggie, trust me, if I could be there this instant, I would, but I’m on my way-”

“The opening time is-”

“I KNOW THE OPENING TIME, REGGIE!” Vy snapped.

I took a breath. There was no use adding any stress to the situation. “All right. Do you need me to set up? No? I’ll just bring them in then. Call if there’s anything else you need.”

I hung up and looked back at the carefully packed containers of pottery stacked inside my father’s car. I’d driven them from the studio to the gallery space where the gala/silent auction would be held, and where Violet would be exhibiting her art for the first time. Unfortunately, an art school had scheduled an interview just before the event and had been uninterested in offering alternative times. Vy had assured me there would be no issue, but the timing must have been tighter than she’d anticipated.

I wanted very much for this experience to go well for my sister. This was her first foray into the “professional” art world, and after our discussions over the past few weeks I knew how important this was to her. With our parents on a much needed (and unrefundable) vacation, and Rhi and Arthur both unable to come, I was the sole representative of the Jeeves family. She had a good number of friends attending as well, of course, but as her only family there I felt some pressure to make sure the experience was pleasant for her. It was by no means an unwelcome burden, but it was an amount of pressure I hadn’t felt in some time. I had only recently re-established my relationship with my sister, and if anything went wrong I was in danger of jeopardizing that.

I checked the time; there was about an hour to go before the event was supposed to start and it felt like not nearly enough time at all. I rushed to get out of the car and started unloading the boxes. I noticed another student and his parents bringing a few paintings into the building, and followed them to the space.

One side of the event space was set up like a gallery, with areas for each artist to display their work. The other side was set up with high tables, a bar, and a small stage area. I noticed several of the artists had already set up and were milling about with their families and friends and felt a pang of regret that Vy didn’t have more supporters here. There wasn’t anything to do about it, I reminded myself. I found the neatly labeled space for Violet Wong Jeeves and gently deposited the first box there.

I had just finished unloading the fifth box when I noticed someone new milling about the gallery space.

I actually noticed the suit first. I have long admired classic menswear, and this particular piece of clothing was impeccably tailored, with a modern profile. It was likely bespoke, but I couldn’t place the tailor. As the man’s back was to me, I spent a few moments admiring the light grey fabric on his slim frame. When he turned around, recognition came over me like a wave. With my pulse racing and my palms sweating, I was relieved I had just put down the box of pottery.

\---

I’d only just finished pondering what looked to my untrained eye like Andy Warhol knockoffs and wondering how I’d pitch them to the frenzied art lovers of London’s East End when I turned around to see, of all people, Reg Jeeves. He looked just as shocked to see me as I imagine I looked to see him. I hadn’t expected to see anyone I knew here, especially not Reg, looking somehow even fancier than he usually did in a three piece suit.

“Hello Reg!” I called out cheerily, and waved, in case he was trying to place me. I’d thought we were past that point but he was looking a little off, and you never know- I’ve had friends where you have to introduce yourself every two weeks or they can’t remember your name.

“Fancy seeing you here!” I said as I walked up. Upon closer inspection, there was a frenzied look to Reg, like he was in the middle of something. I wondered if he was helping with one of the artists.

“Yes.” Reg said after a moment’s pause, licking his lips. His eyes flicked down to my collar and stayed for a few moments. It was probably Aunt Agatha’s dratted tie, I realized. The whole bloody suit had been a gift for my most recent birthday, one of Agatha’s gifts that came with a wounding message like “now you can dress like a proper young man.” She’d demanded I wear it today while I was representing her. The tie had been the one part of the outfit I’d liked (it was a rather pleasant shade of blue), until I remembered how much I hated tying my own ties. I’d done my best to wrangle the thing into submission but it still looked a bit as though a viper was trying unsuccessfully to mate with my neck.

“So, are you helping out with one of the artists- friend or family?” I asked, reaching up to fiddle with the tie in question in hopes of arranging it in a less obviously incompetent windsor. Reg’s eyes snapped back up to mine at the movement, and he nodded.

“Yes, my sister- Violet. She’s not here yet but I’m in the middle of unloading her work. Are you here to support one of the artists as well?” Reg asked, though his body was already starting to turn away. I looked over in the direction to the loading door and motioned for him to walk and I’d follow. I hardly wanted to waste his time blabbing on about my various aunts when I could be helping him get his sister’s art ready.

“Not exactly. My Aunt Agatha runs the foundation that’s funding the space for the event and matching the silent auction. She couldn’t make the event but she strong-armed me into coming instead.”

We had reached the car in question, and with only a moment’s hesitation Reg loaded a box into my arms before taking one himself.

“In a supervisory capacity?” Reg asked, as I carefully made my way to unload my precious cargo.

“Not exactly. She wants me to talk up the art, to get the prices up. She’s apparently got some sort of competition going on with another lady at the event and she wants to make sure the foundation ends up forking over as much as possible.” Reg looked confused, and I rolled my eyes. “Philanthropists, honestly. They talk a lot of rot about the goodness of one’s heart but in the end it’s all about competition. At least for Aunt Agatha.”

We chatted briefly about Violet’s piece until the last of the boxes was unloaded. When I stood back up, I noticed Reg’s eyes at my collar again and sighed.

“Is it that bad?” I huffed, pulling at the tie to undo the knot another time. “I’ll try to do it again but I’m rubbish at this- this is why I told Aunt Agatha I didn’t need a suit- if I can’t bloody tie the tie then what’s the use-”

Reg coughed. I was slowly learning this was his way of announcing he wanted to say something, as though coughing was more polite than simply interrupting like the rest of humanity.

I looked expectantly at him, the tie half unwound from my neck.

“If I may…” he said, gesturing at the offending piece of clothing.

“Well if you think you could do a better job, by all means.” I said, pulling the thing off completely and handing it over. As my hand brushed his I realized that, given my attraction to the man and his general unavailable-on-account-of-professionalism-ness it probably wasn’t the best idea to invite him into my personal space. Before I could come up with an alternative like asking one of the available children (did Andy Warhol wear ties? I wondered), Reg took the length of tie in his hands and stepped closer to adjust my collar.

I stilled, suddenly terrified that a quick breath or sigh on my end would give me away. I tried to even my breaths as his large, capable hands efficiently wound the tie around my neck.

“There was a time when I was younger when I wanted to be a tailor.” Reg said quietly as he started the knot. “My brother Arthur had to wear a uniform for school, so I would sometimes make him play tailor with me, those few moments when he was willing to stand still. I’d measure his jacket, or try putting some of father’s ties on him. I especially enjoyed practicing the different knots.”

I had been staring at one of the families hanging a huge painting of a horse to distract myself, but I chanced a glance at his face. Reg’s brow was furrowed in concentration, and his hands were busy doing something complicated very close to my throat.

“You’d make a great tailor, I’m sure,” I offered, swallowing as a flick of Reg’s hand slipped the fabric past my throat one more time. “The world’s probably better off having you as a therapist, though,” I added.

Reg made an agreeing noise. “Nearly done.” And with a quick adjustment of my collar and brief touch on my shoulders Reg stepped back to admire his handiwork with a slight smile.

“Much better,” he said approvingly, and I tried not to shiver.

“Thanks,” I managed. I couldn’t see it, of course, but my hand came up to gently feel the knot. It certainly felt better than my attempts, and somehow managed to feel less like choking than before. “You’re a marvel.”

He smiled more at that, and was about to come up with some kind of response when he stopped and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Pardon me-” he said before answering. “Vy? Oh, great, let me come find you-”

I watched him walk away, my hand instinctively moving back up to my tie.

“Mr. Wooster?” I looked over to see Nadiya, the event coordinator, at my shoulder.

“Oh, please- call me Bertie,” I said with a wave of my hand. She smiled politely, and motioned for me to follow her among the exhibits. Aunt Agatha had likely asked her to keep an eye on me, and since she wasn’t treating me like an incompetent ass Agatha must not have had much time to explain the situation to her.

“Well, Mr.- I mean Bertie, I thought I would walk you through the exhibitioners since they’re nearly all here and setting up. That way you’ll be familiar with them when the guests come.”

“I can give the guests the good old hard sell better, then, eh?”

Nadiya nodded. “While most of the artists should be able to explain themselves, there’s always a few shy ones who benefit from a little help. Plus, it never hurts to have someone talk up the art,” she added with a grin.

“Yes, Aunt Agatha mentioned. I can’t say I know much about art but I’m happy to give it a whirl.”

Nadiya shrugged. “For younger artists, being enthusiastic is usually enough. You don’t need to fully understand their inspiration or influences, since they’re able to speak to them. It’s enough to just keep conversation flowing, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds simple enough for a chatterbox like me,” I said with a wry smile. Nadiya probably wouldn’t get the joke, but Aunt Agatha would probably hear it somehow.

Nadiya walked me through the first section of artists and I shook their hands and tried to commit their names to memory as best I could. Thankfully, all of them had their spaces labeled with their names, and I picked up a few things to say about each person should any conversation need prompting.

We’d spun around so that I didn’t even notice when we were coming up to Violet Jeeves’s section until we arrived and Nadiya was introducing us. By this point Reg was off somewhere else and most of the pottery was in place- displayed in a mix of crates and museum-like cases. I was surprised to not see much family resemblance in Violet’s features. Where Reg was more ambiguous, Violet was unmistakably of Asian descent. I could see a hint of Reg’s jawline and eyes in her, and they smiled in a similar way, which I noticed as I shook her hand.

“I helped carry some of these in earlier but I didn’t get a good look at them. They’re really quite remarkable,” I said, and I meant it. There was clearly a lot of meaning to the art, and the amount of time and detail in each piece was astounding. They reminded me of the old plates and vases Aunt Agatha had around her house, but they were clearly more modern than that; a plate with two men kissing on a park bench caught my notice in particular.

Violet looked at me curiously. “Oh, Reggie didn’t mention he had someone help- do you two know each other?”

“Ah. Well yes. I’m a...friend of his,” I said, though part of me was wondering- were we friends? Should I have said professional acquaintances? Should I have pretended not to know him?

“Oh! Well then it’s extra nice to meet you,” Violet said, smiling. “I don’t get to meet his friends very often.”

I nodded. Reg seemed the sort to not be particularly into crossing family with friendships.

“Did he leave?” I asked.

Violet chuckled. “No, he’s off sulking. I told him he can’t talk to anyone about my art because he’s biased and I don’t want him influencing the bidders with his ‘psychology of the individual’ so he’s gone to look at the other art.”

I laughed. “You know, the other artists have their family here and they won’t be so principled.”

She shrugged. “I know. I just… he’s so good at everything. And he really wants to help. But I want to show him I’m grown, you know? I can do it on my own. And he’s already helped so much…” She picked up one of the delicate teacups. “Did you know he helped paint some of these? Mostly just the background colors, but still.” She placed it back down.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I couldn’t quite imagine Reg holding a plate in his hand, tracing the lines of a rubbish bin with a fox tail sticking out, but I wasn’t about to say that.

“Would it be all right for me to talk about your art a bit? I suppose I’m here to make sure everyone gets a fair shot, regardless of family circumstances.”

Violet looked at me for a long enough time that a lesser man would have squirmed. As it was, I almost fiddled with my tie before thinking better of it.

“Yes, that’s fine. You’re not my big, annoyingly overprotective, brother.”

I laughed. I noticed Nadiya had turned back from a parental figure to us, and was motioning for me to continue on to the next artist.

“I think I’m being ushered along- it’s been lovely to meet you Violet. Best of luck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously never planned this fic to go so long without so much as a kiss but once I committed to the hella slowburn apparently that meant over 30k words before we started getting somewhere!! Also I just want to put it out there that there isn't really a modern equivalent of the amount of intimacy a valet and his gentleman have but I wanted at least an approximation of that before anything happened! Does that justify the hella slowburn? Probably not. Anyway, thanks all for continuing to read and comment!!


	15. Another poorly thought out Wooster plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reg catches up with Bertie and discovers the lengths he's gone to get a matchmaking older lady off his back.

After Vy had asked me to refrain from standing around her station and “intimidating people people into buying my art” (not how I would have described my plan), I wandered around the other artists’ work in an attempt to calm myself. I kept catching glimpses of Bertie, which was distracting. I’d never realized my attraction to someone in such a sudden way, and I was alarmed at the way I was reacting. With the smooth silk of his tie in my hands and his blue eyes watching me, I had momentarily forgotten that anything else was happening. Unsettled, I found myself thinking back to our previous interactions, wondering how my feelings had changed so abruptly. 

I felt the change in the crowd as the guests started arriving, and spent far too long a time staring at a painting of a horse as I tried to gather my thoughts. A few times I nearly left entirely, just to have some space alone to think, although my loyalty to Violet kept me within sight of her station. Even if she didn’t want me to help, I knew she appreciated having me there.

“You look like you need a drink.” I turned and saw Bertie, holding two glasses of wine. Looking like this, I couldn’t imagine how I hadn’t noticed anything before. He seemed impossibly handsome, with an apologetic grin and sparkling eyes. 

“It’s a cruel fate, to be kicked out by your own kin.” Bertie continued as I accepted one of the glasses. He looked at me for a moment longer before turning to the crowd. “Of course, Violet seems to be doing quite well. I’ve already seen a few bids on her art, and it’s early yet.” 

“That’s a relief,” I said after accepting the glass, happy to have a diversion. “I love her work, but I admit I was worried that her subject matter would be too controversial.” 

“I think it’s just the right kind of controversial,” Bertie said with a grin. “Seems like there’s a few others who feel the same way.” He kept glancing over to a crowd by the bar. 

“Do you need to get back to hosting duties?” I asked, steeling myself for Bertie’s departure. At least when he was around I could focus on our conversation, or bask in his kind attention. I wasn’t looking forward to being left with my own quickly spiraling thoughts.

“Not at the moment,” Bertie said with a smile. “I’ve led the horses to water.” He raised his glass at the painting I’d been staring at. “Now they’ve just got to drink. Mind you, I do plan on sticking around Violet’s area a little more and making some thoughtful noises, just in case it’s helpful. I’ve got half a mind to put in a bid myself.” He glanced over at the bar again, and when he next met my eyes I raised my eyebrows and tipped my chin in the direction he’d been looking. 

“Ah. Caught me out.” Bertie looked embarrassed. “One of the...ladies took quite a shine to me.” 

“Are you hiding?” I asked, noticing as Bertie looked back that one older woman waved at him and broke away from the pack, heading in our direction. 

“No, I- oh damn she’s coming over.” Bertie winced. “Reg I-I‘m very sorry, and I’ll do anything you ask later but I just- I told her you’re my boyfriend.” 

I couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “Excuse me?” I noticed that the woman in question was nearly in earshot, and indeed Bertie had forgone any further explanation in favor of looking at me pleadingly before finishing off his wine. 

“Bertie, you left so quickly, I was worried you wouldn’t introduce me to your young man,” the woman said, placing a hand on Bertie’s elbow. She sounded impossibly posh, and was wearing more gold jewelry than I had seen on an individual in my life. The gold was somehow nearly outshined by a sparkly sequined dress that had been designed by someone who thought disco was the height of fashion.

“Ah, yes,” Bertie said in a strained voice. “Reg, this is my new friend Georgiana. Georgiana, this is Reg. My boyfriend,” he said, smiling too widely and patting her hand. 

I considered my options. I could turn around and walk out now, leave Bertie to make the necessary apologies, and wait until I had a clear head to make any decisions. Or I could play along and answer the plea in Bertie’s eyes. One of the options was the most likely to protect my state of mind, and so naturally I chose the other. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Georgiana,” I said, offering her my hand to shake and the best smile I could manage. 

Georgiana smiled and shook my hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Reg. Bertie was talking my ear off about the art and I thought- what a nice young man he is.” She looked over at Bertie, beaming, and his pleased discomfort was a sight to behold. 

“I told him I wanted to set him up with my Maria,” Georgiana continued, and I immediately understood the motivation behind Bertie’s plan. “And then Bertie said he was gay- which I of course have no problem with, and then I said ‘You’d be perfect for my nephew Geoffrey’ and then bad luck Geoffrey, apparently, because Bertie said he already has you.” I was impressed that Georgiana managed to relay this without one ounce of dismay, given the amount of investment she clearly had in setting Bertie up with someone from her bloodline.

Bertie had stepped over closer to me at this point, and gently draped his arm across my shoulders. While I was pleased at the contact, I didn’t entirely agree with the gesture on a strategic level. I doubted Georgiana would notice, but to my mind his arm on my shoulder seemed more friendly than anything else.

“Yes, I told her I was unfortunately taken, as lovely as Maria and Geoffrey seem,” Bertie said, gesturing with his glass of wine. “But now Georgiana, you were telling me about your trip to Russia-” 

“How long have you two been together, then?” Georgiana asked, her eyes flicking to Bertie’s arm on my shoulders. This woman was sharper than I’d given her credit for.

I knew better than to try to answer, at least. Instead I looked fondly at Bertie and bumped his hip with mine. Bertie looked shocked for a moment before his arm moved down to the small of my back, but he only paused a few moments before saying. “Oh, about three months now.” 

“Oh that’s not very long at all,” Georgiana said with a frown. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet?” 

“Er…well... why don’t you tell her, Reg,” Bertie suggested, smiling nervously at me. Through several layers I felt the warmth of his hand on my back. I suppressed the urge to tell Georgiana we met through an app called Grindr.

“It’s somewhat convoluted,” I said, watching Georgiana fiddle with a necklace that likely cost more than a year’s salary. My mind flicked through the story that was the closest to the truth I could manage. “I’m a therapist. Bertie asked me to come on as a subject expert on his podcast. I agreed, and over the course of recording a few episodes we realized there might be something more going on.” 

I glanced back over at Bertie, who looked almost concerned, but nodded at me to continue. 

“I asked him to come to one of my rugby matches, and at the social after…” I coughed, with feigned and real embarrassment. “We started dating.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Georgiana smiled. “I hope my Geoffrey finds a nice young man like yours, Bertie.” She looked at me. “I had half a mind to come over here and- I don’t know- break the two of you up, but you’re far too sweet.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll tell Geoffrey to start playing some gay rugby.”

“Many of my teammates have found connections that way.” I said, though I was careful not to specify the kind of connection or the number of them. 

“I’ll text him about it,” Georgiana said, holding up her now-empty glass. “I’m going to go get this refilled, and then bid on some art. Lovely to meet you both.” 

Bertie waited until she had reached the bar before dropping his hand from my back. 

“She seems pleasant. And tipsy,” I offered.

“Lord, Reg, I’m so sorry.” Bertie had brought his hand up to his face. “She wouldn’t stop going on about Maria, and then I let it slip that I’m gay because usually that’s enough, you know? And then she started going on about this Geoffrey fellow and nothing I said would put her off and she pulled out her phone to tell him to come over and I- well I panicked, and I told her…well, you know.” 

I noticed that Georgiana, easily spotted in her bright dress, was still watching us from the bar.

“I’m glad I could be of help,” I said, stepping closer to Bertie. I reached out and straightened his tie, too unsure of what I wanted to say to ask beforehand. 

Bertie’s eyes searched mine for a moment before glancing back at the bar. “Oh.” He said, and I couldn’t tell if I manufactured a note of disappointment in his voice. “You’re right- she’s still looking.” 

With the soft fabric pliant underneath my fingers again I found myself unable to let go. Instead I switched to smoothing the lapels of his jacket, my heart hammering, to see if that would allow me to stop, to say something, to step away. 

Bertie, who had at first looked away, was now looking at my face- or at least I assumed, because I couldn’t bring myself to look up and meet his eyes. I was still intent on his lapels until I noticed that, in straightening out his tie, his collar was skewed. In reaching up to straighten the fabric, I brushed the skin of Bertie’s neck and I heard his breath hitch. 

“Reg,” he breathed softly, both a question and an answer at the same time. Finally, I was able to let go. I knew I needed to say something. For once, I simply had no idea what to say. 

“I-”

“Reg!” Violet’s voice sounded alarmed, and I nearly jumped away from Bertie as I turned to face her. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Vy looked fine, simply a little stressed. I was relieved when she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s my friend Dina. She’s only gone and taken full advantage of the bar and now she’s hanging around calling all the white men ‘Chad’. Can you get her out without..y’know... hurting her feelings?”

I believe it is the mark of a good brother to be able to gently tease your sister no matter the circumstances. “I’m sorry- does that mean you need my help? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I keep a respectable distance away-”

“Yes yes fine I was being a twat just come get Dina please?” Vy whined. It’s also possible I was giddy with relief at a distraction from Bertie, who was still watching me with a shocked expression.

I nodded, and waited for Vy to start walking back to her art before I turned to Bertie. 

“A hero for our time,” he said with a smile, but his expression was uncertain. 

I still didn’t know what to say, but I knew that I needed to say something. “I...hope we can find an opportunity to continue our conversation.” 

“Of course. Go on and save the day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I figure out a way to shove the fake boyfriend trope 15 chapters into this thing? YES. Yes I did and I have no regrets. Also this gala is like 4 chapters long in and of itself, which how pacing works, I'm pretty sure.


	16. Only cartoon villains loom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's asked to make a speech. Reg encounters a problem caused by a fake relationship.

Ask anyone and they’ll tell you Bertram Wooster has gotten the wrong side of the stick on more than one occasion. In fact, they might say that I’m more likely to misunderstand a situation than understand it. I think the last one’s a little rude, to be honest, but I’ve made my fair share of mistakes vis-à-vis someone’s point of view, is all I’m trying to say. 

So when Reg stepped away to help his sister, I was somewhat at a loss. He’d said he wanted to continue the conversation, and what I hoped he meant was he wanted to snog me senseless, because that was certainly where I thought our ‘conversation’ was going (assuming that by ‘conversation’ he meant his silently touching my clothes as if entranced) but one didn’t want to assume. I’d been made an ass of too many times, you see. 

I tried to gather my wits the best I could, despite the memory of Reg’s hands on my chest, gently caressing my jacket. I told myself it was possible the man was just extremely into bespoke menswear and happened to have the exact same taste as Aunt Agatha. The introduction of Aunt Agatha to my thoughts finished the job of throwing the metaphorical bucket of water on any potential romantic flames kindling. It was then that I remembered I had a job to do.

I made the rounds again, making encouraging noises here and there while checking the bids (I noticed that off-brand Andy Warhol seemed to be getting the most interest, which I found disappointing). 

I waved at Georgiana a few times as I passed by and she smiled back, but I didn’t think her heart was in it anymore now that I could no longer be flung into the waiting maws of her various grandchildren. There was a general announcement that the auction would close soon, and I decided now would be a good time to check in with the Jeeves siblings. 

Violet was in the midst of explaining a piece to a confused older woman. I nodded at her and joined their conversation, making approving sounds as Violet spoke. It was distressingly easy to make the older woman suddenly look at ease. 

“This really is very courageous. Do you know, I think you might be my favorite artist here tonight!” I said, and while I had said this many times over the course of the evening, this time I truly did mean it.

Violet grinned at me as the woman cooed at the art and went off to place her bid. 

Once she was off, Violet and I checked her list. It wasn’t too shabby but it certainly wasn’t the amount I’d hoped she would raise. Violet looked a little disappointed, but she turned to me with a smile on her face. 

“Thanks so much for your help, Bertie.”

“I’m only sorry everyone listens to me so quickly. Really, as if I know that much about art.” 

Violet shrugged. “Whatever you do, it’s helped. And this is a great amount-with the foundation match it should be more than enough to help me with my first year, and if I’ve got a job on the side that should help with the rest.”

I felt all too keenly the fact that most of my friends had been financed through university by their parents. I was glad Violet seemed much more sensible than any of us at a similar age.

I studied another of her vases that depicted a full complement of tourists at Borough market, including the litter they left behind. 

“Will you be sad to part with these?” I asked. One of the tourists looked just like Angela, I noticed. 

Violet shrugged. “Yes and no. I worked on them for ages, so of course I’ll be sad to see them go. But I’m glad they’ll be appreciated. And it’s not like I have room for a dozen pieces like this. It would have been nice to keep one or two of my favorites...but now I know for the next show.” 

“Which one’s your favorite?” I asked. 

She pointed to a plate that featured the inside of a Chinese takeaway place, with kids draped over the one booth and two people working behind the counter. The edge of the plate was wreathed with delicious looking Chinese food. 

“It’s my family,” Violet said. “It’s a bit silly and sentimental. Most of the other pieces are supposed to be biting commentary, but I wanted this one to be just us. That’s me,” she pointed to a baby crawling on the seat. “And that’s Reg,” she said, motioning to a chubby young boy at the edge of the booth with a book in his hands. 

I laughed in delight. “That’s lovely.”

“Yeah, I didn’t have Reg help with this one because I knew he’d be embarrassed. I don’t even think he’s noticed it yet, to be honest.”

Violet was smiling fondly at her work. I’ve spent a great deal of time around people with more disdain than anything for their siblings, so to have Violet and Reg get along so clearly was a pleasant surprise. I felt a pang of sympathy that this work of hers would have to go to fund her time at uni. 

They announced the bids would be finishing soon, and as I looked around to see if there was any last thing to do, I saw Georgiana with a young man in tow. He looked a bit like a young Jude Law but more peevish, and I was immediately grateful that, assuming this was her Geoffrey, I’d turned down any advances on his behalf. I was surprised to see that she simply whisked him past me to make a bid on Violet’s art. 

As far as I knew, the more bids the merrier, so I left them to it. I noticed when I turned that Nadiya was walking in my direction with a determined look in her eye. 

“Bertie?” She asked with a worried smile. 

“What can I do for you, Nadiya?” 

“Well quite a bit as it happens. Mrs. Bucket-” I recognized her name from Aunt Agatha’s extensive list of rivals, “is unable to announce the final numbers.” 

“Oh no! What happened?” 

Nadiya sighed. “She choked on a canapé.” At my raised eyebrows, she clarified. “She’s fine, but embarrassed, and she sounds like a ghost so she’s refusing to do it. I have to coordinate the toast so I was wondering if you might be able to do it?” She smiled winningly.

I blinked. Bertie Wooster doesn’t often go in for public speaking. 

“I’m sorry, but did you just ask me to announce-”

“The winning bids, yes. We’re closing the auction in a few minutes and then there’s going to be a few short words from each artist and then we’ll announce the winners of the art along with the foundation match.”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?” I asked, my voice rising in alarm. 

“Everyone else is already either speaking or coordinating while this happens. I’m very sorry Bertie. Also, your aunt called for an update and she insisted we use you to announce the match, as her stand in.”

“Of course she did.” Aunt Agatha, ever one to throw her least favorite nephew in the thick of it.

Nadiya, to her credit, winced. “If there was anyone else who could do it, I would give it to them, Bertie. It will be fairly simple- you’ll just read out the names and the final amounts. And you’ve done so well tonight.”

Let it not be said Bertie Wooster can’t be sweet-talked into things. “Oh all right. I’ll do it. I just have one request.”

Nadiya raised a worried eyebrow. 

“No matter what happens, please give my dreaded Aunt a glowing review of my performance.”

Nadiya laughed. “Of course, Bertie. I’ll tell her you had the audience in tears. The good kind.”

“Jolly good.”

She patted my arm. “I’ll find you when you’re set to go. You’ll be speaking after the last artist goes- Violet Jeeves. You know her, right?”

I nodded. It was hard not to feel as though I had just placed my head on the public speaking chopping block, but I was stuck between the hard place of Aunt Agatha and the rock of this event. 

I decided to head over to the bar and get myself another drink before the speaking was to begin, because if I was going to do this bloody thing, at least I could be tipsy while it happened.

While the barman was putting an amount of gin and a whisper of tonic together, I heard Nadiya announce the conclusion of the silent auction. There was hearty applause, and then she said that winners would be announced after the artists had a chance to speak more about what the foundation’s funds would mean for their pursuit of art. 

I listened gamely to the first one, but the second one was the Andy Warhol fellow and I’d soured on him to the point where I drifted off while he was speaking. I’d realized I should probably check my reflection in a mirror of some kind before going up in front of everyone, and so I set off in pursuit of the loo. 

On my way, I noticed probably-Geoffrey lurking in the back, standing near someone. I’d have described it as looming, except as I got closer I realized the person he was attempting to loom over was Reg, who was noticeably taller than him. 

As soon as I noticed the loom-ee was Reg, I became concerned. A part of me argued that Reg was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and was quite possibly consensually being loomed upon, but as I got closer I noticed Reg’s stuffed frog face and knew I needed to do something. 

“Is anything the matter?” I asked. Reg turned to see me and I thought I saw a hint of relief in his expression. 

“Darling,” He said with a wide smile that made my heart skip a beat. Before I knew it, I was being pulled in between Geoffrey and Reg. I felt Geoffrey back away with a huff, and then I had no further attention toward Geoffrey’s actions as Reg carded a hand through my hair and kissed me. Or I thought he’d gone in for a kiss, at least. Later on I realized he might have planned on stopping an inch short. It’s possible I met him the rest of the way.

His lips were impossibly soft, and I’m sure I made an undignified noise as his hand tightened in my hair. I barely had a moment to grab his jacket and kiss him back before he stepped away, looking behind me to wherever Geoffrey had gone. 

If there was ever a wrong end of a stick to get, I was very worried I’d gotten the wrong one here. 

“Reg?” I asked. He didn’t look jubilant, or excited, or even just a little turned on- all of which were my feelings- instead he looked distraught. 

“I’m...so sorry, Bertie,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to do that without- I’m afraid my judgement isn’t the best today.”

All I cared about was whether or not the kiss had been real. But I had a feeling I couldn’t ask about that just yet. The longer I had Reg in front of me, the more distressed he looked.

“What did Geoffrey do?”

Reg glanced at me in surprise. “You know him?”

I waved a non committal hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced, but I saw him walking ‘round with Georgiana and it didn’t take a detective to put needy grandson together with overbearing grandmother.”

Reg chuckled darkly. “Of course,” he sighed. “Geoffrey put the last bid on Violet’s art.”

“I thought I saw him over there. Was it substantial, I hope?”

“It was a decent bid. I went over to congratulate him, and then he introduced himself.” I watched Reg’s expression darken. “He told me to break up with you, or he’d destroy my sister’s art after the purchase,” Reg said, quietly furious. 

That was certainly a way to get this Wooster’s attention, I thought. An extremely cartoon villainous-like way.

“Reg- our relationship was fake, why didn’t you just tell him yes and then throw a drink in my face? It would hardly have been a sacrifice for your sister’s art.”

Reg let out a breath. I noticed his cheeks were a little pinked, and I tried hard not to think about how fit he looked while all worked up. “I couldn’t. The things he said about you- the things he said about Violet- I couldn’t let him have what he wanted. And there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t have done it anyway.”

“So you decided you’d give him his answer by planting one on the Wooster lips.” I said dryly, declining to note that said lips still tingled a little bit. 

Reg smirked, though he still wasn’t looking at me. “I suppose I did. That’s..not how I planned to go about it, to be honest.”

“Well,” I said, because someone had to. 

“About that, Bertie-“ Reg started, eyes finally meeting mine before I waved him off. 

“As much as I’d love to go into detail right now, we’ll have time later to discuss that. Right now we have to deal with Geoffrey.”

Reg sighed. “I could try to report him to the event coordinator and get his bid marked off. I don’t have much proof, but there’s no reason why I would lie about something like that.”

I nodded. “Yes, that could work. Although…I might have a better idea.” It involved some auntly intervention and a great deal of public speaking on my part, but I liked to think it was a decent idea overall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm not 100% finished writing this thing yet but I can see that finish line. I'm thinking 2 more chapters? Thanks again to everyone still following along! <3


	17. Wooster manages to save the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's plan turns out pretty well, all things considered.

While I had known that the gala would be eventful, I certainly hadn’t anticipated how eventful it would turn out. I managed to return to the crowd just as Violet was speaking. She’d told me her remarks wouldn’t be very interesting, but I watched her in awe. She spoke clearly and eloquently about her dreams and passions of learning additional media types in order to broaden her mixed media work, and it was abundantly clear to me that my little sister had grown up. 

After Vy left the stage, Nadiya introduced Bertie as the announcer of the silent auction winners. Bertie took the stage to smattered applause. I was surprised at how pleased I felt to admire Bertie as he walked up to the podium. He looked nervous, but determined, and his suit still looked quite smart.

“Thank you all for coming. Here are the winners of the silent auction.” It was strange to watch him speak so soberly, without the exclamations and jokes he usually peppered in his speech. He was, essentially, reading off the list. Until he got to the end. 

“As you all know, the Bumpleigh Foundation funds this event and matches the auction prices of the art in order to provide the artists with additional funds needed for their education.” Another smattering of applause. 

“As of tonight, the Bumpleigh Foundation would like to announce the first ever Yaxley award for excellence in mixed media, which will fully fund an aspiring artist’s first year of professional schooling. The recipient of this award, in fact, receives this funding through the gift of their art displayed tonight, which will continue to be displayed at the Bumpleigh Foundation offices. So, unfortunately, there is no silent auction winner for the artist. The recipient of this award is Violet Wong Jeeves.” 

I watched Vy realize her name had been called as her friends cheered. She ran up and hugged Bertie. We’d found a small plaque to act as the award, which he gave to her. As the audience applauded, I noticed Geoffrey and Georgiana leaving. I had debated having some kind of final confrontation with them. I decided against it due to the already unpleasant memory of Geoffrey’s clammy hand on my wrist as he demanded I break up with Bertie in order to allow him to make a ‘more advantageous’ match. That certainly hadn’t been a conversation I’d expected to have with someone in the current century. 

After the celebratory toast, I found my way to Vy’s side. She squealed and hugged me tightly, which made me laugh. “I’m guessing this means everything turned out to your liking?” I asked. 

“Bertie says I’ll get to keep my favorite pieces after they’re on display at the foundation!” She laughed. “I know I put on a brave face but I was really sad about losing some of them.” 

“Reg!” Someone placed a hand on my arm- I recognized Dina from earlier, although I was pleased to see she was somewhat more sober than before. “We’re taking Vy out to celebrate- come with us!” 

“Dina, Reggie’s gay,” Vy said with a laugh. 

“That doesn’t mean he can’t have fun!” Dina yelled, and I amended my earlier thought. 

“I’m too old for this part,” I said with a smile. “Go on and have fun without me. I’ll see you later, Vy.” I pulled her in for another hug. “I’m proud of you,” I said, enjoying the way her face scrunched up after I’d said the words. 

“Yeah alright, later old man!” Vy called.

I watched the group leave and felt something in me relax. I had- we had done it. 

“I’m in shock that it worked so well,” I heard Bertie say behind me. I turned around and saw his sheepish grin. “Violet seemed quite chuffed.”

“That was very impressive,” I said, giving up on dampening my smile. “Lucky that the Bumpleigh Foundation was looking for a scholarship recipient.” 

“Like I said, philanthropists are a funny lot,” Bertie shrugged. 

When I’d kissed Bertie earlier, I hadn’t truly meant to. I’m ashamed to say I had been desperately thinking of ways to get Geoffrey out of my face, grabbed at Bertie wildly, and before I could think properly, Bertie’s face was moving closer to mine. I’m fairly certain I would have stopped short, perhaps kissed his cheek instead, but there was a sigh and someone closed the last inch of space between us and suddenly I was finding out sooner than I’d expected what Bertie’s lips tasted like (gin and mint, mainly). While it had been a surprise, it certainly hadn’t been unwelcome, but none of my relationships had taken this particular unorthodox course and I was unclear on what should happen next.

I had determined that something needed to happen. For all my familial pride and worry, the memory of that kiss had been taking up a significant portion of my thoughts. 

I realized Bertie was looking at me with a curious expression on his face. His manner was more subdued than I’d expected, as though he was waiting for me to say something.

I cleared my throat. “Do you have a moment?” 

Bertie laughed. “Anything for you, Reg.” He reddened slightly at this but looked pleased as I led him out the back of the venue, past the staff who were packing up the art and breaking down the tables. 

We exited near a loading dock and I felt some relief at stepping into the cool night air. I looked at Bertie, whose face was turned to the sky. 

“It’s too bad you can’t see too many constellations from here. I think I can just about make out the North star, but it’s hard to tell. I mean, how do you know which one is which, really? There’s so many of them and they’re all daft little dots. And what about the constellations, anyway? I can make out about a million wedges of cheese from any three stars but for some reason we’ve got centaurs shooting arrows, as if that’s a normal-” 

“Bertie,” I said, realizing I’d need to interrupt or else be subjected to an impromptu lecture about the ridiculousness of constellations. 

“Sorry, I just, don’t really understand-” 

“We kissed, earlier,” I said, trying for directness. 

I heard him swallow. There was a fair amount of light, but it was still difficult to see his expression. His eyes, which were usually quite bright and easy to read, were in shadow. 

“That is a true fact, Reg,” Bertie managed. He sounded nearly on the edge of hysterics.

I took a breath. Might as well say it now. “I’d like to do that again, under less trying circumstances. If you’d be. You know. Amenable.” I found myself faltering, unable to read Bertie’s expression. 

I waited a few moments, suddenly less certain than I’d been before. Had I misread something? It was certainly possible, since it had been quite a while since the last time I’d tried this sort of thing. 

“I apologize if I-” 

“No, Reg.” Bertie stepped closer and put his hand on mine, running his thumb along my palm. “Don’t apologize. That is… I would very much be amenable. To kissing you. I just...I know there’s been a lot of things going on tonight. Least of which was a fair spot of trouble I got you and your sister into through my haphazard planning. And I’m very lucky I was able to fix it at all.” Bertie paused, fidgeting with my hand. “I...didn’t want you to get it in your head I expected anything from you, after all this, I mean I fancy you a lot, Reg, I have for a while, but I know sometimes people make strange decisions hopped up on endorph-whatsits, and I just wanted to make sure that you’re, you know,” he took a breath, “clear of mind and whatnot. I don’t want you to be doing this because you think you owe me a favor, or because I’m not a rotter like Geoffrey, or anything like that.”

I laughed, which seemed to startle Bertie. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t understand why you were acting so odd until just now,” I explained, feeling some relief.

Bertie grinned and ran a hand through his hair, still looking nervous. “It’s just..I made a decision, when I made that call to the dragon- I mean my aunt Agatha. Earlier tonight when you were,” he motioned to his suit, “handling my garments, I thought I’d ask you to dinner, but then when I made that call…I knew it would be inappropriate to ask anything after that. I’m not saying I would have done anything differently if you had zero interest in the Wooster person, but it feels wrong of me to ask, now. I probably shouldn’t have even said that.” Despite all this, his hand was still twined with mine. 

From an outside perspective, it was a valid point. However, I knew myself well enough to feel completely unworried about any potential issues. I brought Bertie’s hand up and pressed my lips to his knuckles, once again hearing that sharp intake of breath I had started to thoroughly enjoy. 

“I appreciate the concern,” I said gently, “But my interest in you is not solely because of endorphins from your rescue.” 

Bertie, vexingly, still appeared to be in a bit of a panic. “But what if-“

“Bertie,” I said sternly. “I’m a grown man capable of making my own decisions, and I need you to understand that.” 

Bertie let out a breath. “I do, Reg, I just- I don’t want to bung this up.”

I bit down my smile at Bertie’s earnestness. “I have a feeling you’ll do just fine,” I said, and slid my hand around the back of his neck to coax him into another kiss. As our lips touched, Bertie relaxed against me with a sigh, and I felt his hand wind around my waist. 

We passed several very pleasant moments before I had to take a break to catch my breath.

I noticed Bertie was watching me while biting his lip. He looked pleased, but still somewhat uncertain. “Are you quite sure, Reg?”

“Do you trust my judgement?” 

Bertie made a flourishing gesture with his arm which I took to mean that he was surprised I was even asking the question. “Of course. I trust you implicitly.” 

“Then trust me to know what I’m doing,” I said. I reached up one last time to straighten Bertie’s tie, which had somehow managed to go quite askew over the last few minutes. Unlike the first time, I was able to meet Bertie’s gaze, and I watched his expression change from uncertain to pleased as his smile widened. 

“You are a grown man,” he allowed. “If you’re hell-bent on dating me I suppose there’s nothing else I can do.” 

I chuckled, finding my hand on his tie a convenient hold to pull him back in for another kiss. “That’s the spirit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, finishing something is 500% harder than starting or even middling it. But it's done! Last chapter should go up tomorrow. Many thanks to jen_henrykins for dealing with my angst and re-reading everything and then telling me when things sounded weird.


	18. Ask Wooster Episode: Relationship Advice with Reg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a while, Reg guests on the pod.

Bertie: What ho what ho what ho! Welcome to “Ask Wooster”, an advice podcast for confused chaps, befuddled beazels, and everyone in between. I am your host, Bertie Wooster, your clueless confidante. And here with me today is much-loved guest of the podcast, our resident therapist, Reg Jeeves!

Reg: Hello.

Bertie: Reg, I think it’s safe to say it’s been a hot sec since you’ve last been on the pod, care to fill us in on what you’ve been up to? 

Reg: Er. Not particularly. 

Bertie: Prefer to stay mysterious, eh? 

Reg: That’s one way of putting it.

Bertie: Fair enough! I get a lot of questions about you, Reg, so I’m just trying to keep the listeners happy. Someone wrote in asking your favorite fruit! Do you have one? 

Reg: It depends on what is in season, but assuming that doesn’t factor in, I do like lychees.

Bertie: There you are, listeners! A slice of information from the mysterious Reg. Now, let’s move on to our first question from Manisha in Essex. What ho Manisha! She writes, “Dear Bertie, I’ve been dating a really nice girl for about a year,” Congratulations Manisha, “and we get along swimmingly except we don’t agree on how much about my life she should share with the other people in her life. Like she’ll go round the pub with her friends and talk about my mum’s health or something, and I don’t want her friends to know about these things, at least not until she’s cleared it with me first. She says she doesn’t want to keep secrets from her friends and it’s hard to know what’s ok to share and isn’t. How do I explain that I don’t want my family drama to be a news item?” What do you think, Reg? 

Reg: I believe what Manisha is trying to do is set some boundaries with her girlfriend about pieces of her life she feels are private and feel comfortable sharing with her girlfriend, but she doesn’t feel the same level of comfort sharing that information with people beyond that. That is certainly understandable, although some people don’t understand it as easily. I would suggest that Manisha have a conversation with her girlfriend about the kinds of things she doesn’t feel comfortable with her girlfriend sharing, and ask if she feels she can keep quiet about those things. 

Bertie: Sound advice, Reg! I was thinking along similar lines. You know, I actually had a sitch like this pop up in my own personal life, which as we all know I tend to blab on about on the pod. 

Reg: Really.

Bertie: Oh absolutely, anyway, as it turns out I have been seeing someone, and of course I was all gung-ho to talk about it on the podcast straightaway on account of my life being an open book, but the chap I’m seeing listens to the podcast and told me to stuff it!

Reg: I’m sure he didn’t say-

Bertie: Of course not, of course not, he said something much more pleasant but the end result being that he’s a very private person and didn’t want his life bandied about on air! Which I have respected, on account of being a very respectful fellow. I have asked if I could talk about him generally on the pod, and he said yes, as long as I don’t give away any specifics about his life, his name, that sort of thing.

Reg: And you don’t consider talking about his preference for privacy more of a personal detail?

Bertie: Oh. Well, I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose it is more personal, but--dash it, this is more confusing than I thought!

Reg: Hmm.

Bertie: The point I was trying to make, anyway, is that Manisha can ask her girl, just like my- the chap I’m dating asked me to keep mum about personal claptrap, and her girlfriend should be able to. Although I’d just like to say in my case it’s obviously not that I go around intentionally throwing private information abound, it’s just that I tend to not think while I’m speaking and also I like sharing things about my personal life, and also in my case I’m quite, you know, chuffed about everything and think this chap has a number of lovely qualities! None of which I can elaborate on. Because of privacy, and you know, boundaries.

Reg: ...I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that. Perhaps we should move on to the next question? 

Bertie: Right-ho, here we have Barbara from Edinburgh. Barbara asks, “My new boyfriend keeps showering me with presents, and I’m not sure what to do- they’re nice but they’re not actually my style and on top of that I don’t really need more things. How do I tell him nicely that I don’t need any more heart-shaped necklaces?” This is actually also quite topical, because I have also run into this recently-

Reg: *coughs*

Bertie: Bless you, Reg, anyway- I have, funnily enough, given a few presents to the chap I’m dating, including what I thought was quite a natty watch, and it took me a hot sec to realize that he actually didn’t like them very much. He said he appreciated them, of course, but they weren’t his cup of tea and-

\---

Reg paused the recording. He was getting quite adept at handling the podcast equipment at this point, and I had half a mind to tell him so when I realized he was looking at me with his perplexed face. The one that meant I’d probably done something wrong. 

“Bertie, when you asked if you could talk about me on your podcast I assumed it would be a sentence or two on the occasional episode, not multiple conversations on an episode where I am also a guest. It’s the worst of both worlds- I can’t provide my side of the story and I have to listen to you describe me like some sort of paranoid recluse who hates gifts-” 

“Oh come on now, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that!” I said. I was certain I’d said something about him being lovely and handsome as well. 

Reg raised an eyebrow and played back the part of the recording where I’d mentioned seeing someone. Hearing it back, it certainly didn’t have the warmth I’d felt while describing him in the heat of the podcasting moment, as it were. 

“I suppose I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to have you on the podcast now that we are, ah, dating.” I said. It had been about three months and we still hadn’t said the b-word yet (boyfriend, obviously), and while I was fairly certain Reg was on board the Bertie Wooster train, for one reason or another I hadn’t brought it up and now it was bothering me. “I hadn’t planned on using you as an example for answering the questions but there you were,” I motioned at him, perched on the armchair over my coffee table, “And it was hard to think of anything else.” 

Reg reddened slightly. He tended to blush when I talked about him at length, which was delightful. “Anyway, we can re-record and I’ll try to do a better job of not mentioning my boyfriend this time,” I said quickly.

It took a moment of Reg unexpectedly grinning to make me realize I’d said what I hadn’t meant to say. 

“Best not mention your boyfriend too much on the podcast while said boyfriend is trying to keep his private life out of his career, which is already tied to said podcast,” he said wryly. 

I stood up from the sofa so I could leg it over to Reg and apply the Wooster lips to my newly minted boyfriend. 

“Everything good, Reg?” I asked after the kiss, resting my forehead against his. 

“Very good, Bertie,” my boyfriend replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie- finishing this fanfiction was way harder than I expected! But I learned a lot. Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos'd and gave me encouragement to keep going when I first started posting. I almost never posted this and I'm very glad that I did. I hope that if you made it to the end, you enjoyed yourself, and something about it made you laugh!


End file.
